


Sextrollogy

by chelonianmobile



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Human, Astrology, Kink Meme, Multi, Xeno
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 14:03:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelonianmobile/pseuds/chelonianmobile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme introduced me to the works of Starsky and Cox (not kidding on those names, I assume they're pseudonyms) regarding the supposed kinks associated with each zodiac sign, proving obvious inspiration for troll-centric fic. Various pairings, various AUs, handwaved character ages, will contain various levels of squick noted in the pre-chapter notes. Chapter titles from "Cosmic Coupling". Please send me ideas for different types of xeno! I want to include more variation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. LeoLib: ~the board~

**Author's Note:**

> According to the book "Sextrology" and its sequel "Cosmic Coupling" by Stella Starsky and Quinn Cox, each zodiac sign is associated with certain sexual behaviour and kinks. Accuracy is debateable, but it's fun for fic purposes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -Generic on-Earth of-legal-age AU, tentabulge/nook.  
> -Nepeta; top positioning, colourful kinky lingerie, spanking, animal sounds, sitting on face.  
> -Terezi; morning sex, licking/nibbling/sucking, humping, nipple play, nipple piercings, boycut briefs.  
> -Both: crossdressing, sixty-nine, mention of f-f-m threesomes.

The sun of Earth is gentler than Alternia's, and the trolls are almost used to waking in daylight now. Terezi is still not fond of beds, but Nepeta is, and the hivemind nightmares are reduced here, so a smear of sopor will suffice. Thick soft pillows, dry pyjamas, and an armful of her matesprit; it's not as bad as she used to think, especially waking with her lungs clear and no slime to scrape away.

Nepeta yanks off the blanket, yawns and stretches, sun filtering through the colourful curtains and glimmering on the sopor smears on her temples. "Morning!"

"Morning. Bluh, talk to me when I'm awake," Terezi mumbles, wiping sleep-drool from her chin and reaching for her glasses. She sits up, tugging a crease out of her dragon-patterned boxers, only to have them creased again when Nepeta lounges across her lap. "Okay, now I'm awake."

"Keen this morning, aren't we?"

"So are you."

"Nice dreams." Nepeta's pyjamas are soft cotton, striped in varying shades of green, too big across the shoulders and a tad snug around the hips; Terezi slides the shirt hem up and brushes the silken strap of the bra concealed underneath.

"You got up to put these on under your PJs?" Terezi snickers. "You know me so well. Let me see, what flavour is this one?" Nepeta straddles Terezi's leg and lets her matesprit roll her shirt up, giggling as Terezi sniffs around and finally licks the shiny white silk, tracing the pale green trim and onto the grey skin. "Ooh, peppermint. That one's new."

"Kanaya owed me a favour and she said she wanted to use tasteful colours this time. I told her all colours are tasteful to you and she told me to stick to cat puns." Nepeta mirrors the movements of Terezi's tongue with her fingers under Terezi's own shirt, albeit squeezing harder. Terezi rests her teeth on a nipple, a visible green-tinted spot through the silk, and Nepeta takes that as a cue to pinch Terezi's, rolling her thumb on the barbell in it. Their hips roll lazily, thighs pressing firmly together, a teal patch already staining Terezi's boxers. "The panties match. I was hoping this would work better than red."

"Yeah, sorry but that time was kind of gross," Terezi says, pulling a face. "Made a horrible mud colour when the green leaked through it. This is fine, nothing to interfere with some good green. You want to switch up yet?"

"No, this is fine for the moment, I know you like it like this." Nepeta pushes her weight down on Terezi's thigh and shifts her knee forward, allowing stronger pressure; the motions of her bulge can be discerned, the baggy seam of her pyjamas now sticky and starting to cling. Her claws pluck gently at Terezi's piercings. "Mrrr... Almost a shame to stain these."

"More of a shame that we're the only ones who see them, or smell them," Terezi says, smirking and easing Nepeta's waistband down a little, then further, until a tiny strip of more silk is exposed. "I'm sure Kanaya would like to know how much we appreciate her work. Or your moirail could come and see how well I'm taking care of you."

Nepeta's purr almost drowns out her reply. "How about Karkat? Then you can have some red."

"Oh my, yes. We'd have to see how much we could make him blush."

Nepeta kneels up, and slides her pyjama bottoms down to mid-thigh; Terezi grins as the tiny lacy shorts are exposed. "I'm ready if you are." In reply, Terezi reaches over the side of the bed and pulls out her shiny red bucket.

Some rearranging later, Terezi's boxers and Nepeta's pyjamas fall to the floor, and Nepeta straddles Terezi's face, yelping and almost falling when Terezi licks the inside of her knee. "Careful! I don't want to squish you..." She yelps again as Terezi picks the hem of her briefs away from her skin, and the slim squirming bulge is freed. She falls forward, balancing on her elbows, Terezi's own bulge sliding over her chin. "Okay, tilt your hips up." Terezi does, and Nepeta can now reach her nook. She laps in short strokes around the edge, the way she knows Terezi likes, and the motion is reciprocated through her briefs; she'd prefer Terezi pulled them aside and pushed her tongue right in, but this way is not by any means unpleasant, far from it. Instead, she reaches back and tucks her bulge back in; it slithers up and inside. Perfect.

Nepeta grips Terezi's buttocks and pulls her hips up a little; Terezi grunts and sucks hard on the sodden cloth, the white now green. Nepeta wriggles her hips, and digs in her claws. Terezi does have, as Dave says, a very plush rump, high and round and pleasantly soft from years of sampling every foodstuff she can find in order to build her colour reference collection. Nepeta kneads the flesh and lightly slaps it, then again on the other side, watching a teal flush rise under the skin, and the light scratches of her claws earn careful pressure from Terezi's fangs. Terezi isn't using her hands; Nepeta can't see, but she knows she's occupied working her own piercings - that's why she got them.

Soon, Terezi signals that she's getting close with a squeeze of Nepeta's ankle; Nepeta shifts them towards the edge of the bed, gently lowers Terezi's hips, points the teal bulge at the pail on the floor, and abruptly purrs. Terezi shrieks against Nepeta's nook, and teal half-fills the bucket.

Nepeta props herself up on her trembling arms, Terezi's tongue and lips working faster, teeth lightly drawing sharp lines. Nepeta growls frustratedly and tries not to push her hips down too far; Terezi's tongue slithers up under the briefs and inside, and Nepeta's nook muscles contract hard to hold in the fluid as she comes with a yowl.

Terezi starts coughing, and Nepeta quickly climbs off her, stepping onto the floor. "Oh, I'm sorry! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, some just went down the wrong way," Terezi says between hacking noises, finally clearing her throat and wiping olive green from her lips. "You good?"

"Great!" Nepeta straddles the bucket, slips her bulge out and back into its sheath, and releases the fluid, the teal turning greener. "I think we need to clean up before breakfast though."

Terezi pulls Nepeta back into her arms and runs her tongue over the stains on Nepeta's face. "I'll get started right now, then."


	2. *TW:ABUSE* GemAqu: ~the jest~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Non-Sextrology content: Dualscar/Psiioniic, discussion of Dualscar/Mindfang, Mindfang/Condesce, unrequited Dualscar/Condesce, and fucked-up abusive Condesce/Psiioniic. Anatomy so vaguely described just about anything could be going on down there.  
> Sextrology kinks as follows:  
> Dualscar: being cuckolded, anal play, bluecollar workers (in this case a.k.a. lowbloods), discussion of female masturbation and heavy B&D.  
> Psiioniic: lipstick, mind games.  
> Both: phone sex, oral, discussion of girl-on-girl/MFF threesomes, oral.

"Fuck!" Dualscar slammed a fist down on the console; he was hopeless at this. All he'd wanted to do was briefly observe the Battleship Condescension, and, if all went well, its owner. He was pretty sure he'd made contact with their system, but had no idea whether it was working properly. Curse these newfangled computers, they'd been so much simpler in his wrigglerhood. Still, the whining, beeping, whirring sounds emitting from the console had at least quieted, so he assumed he was at least fucking it up less.

At least, he thought so until a particularly loud whine made his fins twitch and his hair stand on end. Then a new sound made him gasp and almost fall off his chair; a rasping, lisping voice, sounding amused, yet detached, not entirely lucid.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. What are you doing to that poor machine?"

"What the - who the hell are you?" Dualscar snapped, trying to cover his shock.

"Helmsman Condescension at your service, Orphaner Dualscar," came the reply from the console's speakers. "I recognise you."

Dualscar peered at the computer. "How are you doing that?"

"I have a certain expertise with these devices. Are you spying on the empress?"

"No! Of course not. I'm just..." Dualscar hit the console again. "Trying to make this thing connect so I can talk to her."

"You aren't succeeding terribly well."

"Bah, these things are lowblood business anyway. Case in point, pissblood."

"You can't have the empress either. I've seen you when she calls you to her. I see all on board my ship and you hide your lust worse than a barkbeast in heat."

Dualscar kicked the desk in irritation and reached to turn the console off. A spark leapt from it and burnt his finger, and he drew back with a hiss.

"Rude." The Helmsman clicked his tongue. "I was talking."

"How dare you! I am the Orphaner, the highest of the seadwellers beside Her Imperious Condescension, and you are a mere pissblood - not even that anymore, you're an engine, a battery!"

"Her Imperious Condescension's favourite battery, hehehe, which gives me an advantage over you. I'm closer to her than you will ever get. Many times a day sometimes."

"What?"

"She leaves her lipstick prints all over me. There's still some on my lips right now, it tastes like wax and sugar. It's the only thing I've tasted in sweeps. Except for her slurry."

"You... you filthy... Shut up! How dare you speak of your queen this way?"

"I can see inside her block," the voice continued, singsong and suppressing giggles. "I can see her all the time. Her and _eeeeveryone_ on board. Can't stop seeing them, might as well enjoy it. Do you want me to tell you what she looks like when she's pailing? She loves my tongue. I can only use it to speak to you from here, but I'm sure that will do."

"Fuck you!" Dualscar snarled, hoping his voice covered the sound of friction as he shifted his legs in an attempt to stop the blood pooling between them.

"Oh, she does."

Dualscar breathed rapidly between gritted teeth, trying to stay silent and failing, hips rocking against the chair, the seat of which was rapidly becoming damp. _Fucking uppity pissblood..._

"I can hear you, officer. Are you thinking of her or me?"

"Ahhh..." Dualscar didn't even bother to come up with a curse, or to continue denying his arousal. He slipped a hand inside his clothes. "Her. Jealous, peasant?"

"Why should I be? I see as much of her as I want." The Helmsman's voice dropped to a purr, and Dualscar heard him lick his lips. "She's been with your kismesis. Black pail."

"What?! You lie!"

"The Marquise has silver rings in her grubscars and your sigil carved on her left hip. She likes to use her teeth. The empress had her on the floor in front of me, and then she let her take a turn with me. She looked beautiful in yellow. Will you punish her?"

Growling curses, Dualscar kicked his breeches off and started to stroke himself in earnest, violet leaking between his knuckles and flushing his fins.

"Perhaps you'd rather hear how she looks when she does what you're doing now? Her claws are too long to put inside. She has quite a collection of things to use instead. Of course I'm her favourite." An obscene chuckle. "She squeals a lot. Sometimes it hurts my head. Are you still interested?"

"Keep talkin', pissblood," Dualscar groaned, tightening his grip and bringing his other hand down. He lay back on the floor, breeches still around one calf, eyes and teeth clenched shut. His index finger, slick with his own slurry, gingerly slid down between his buttocks, not quite pushing in. "You make me sick, you know. Spreading such talk about your empress. Traitor."

"True, but what more can she do to me? I'm precious to her now. More than you ever will be."

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you..."

"Would you like to? She'd let you if you begged. Perhaps she'd watch. She'd like that, it won't be the first time. I can be repositioned in the wires, you could reach my mouth but it wouldn't shut me up. I can keep talking through the computer speakers, you can't stop me, but wouldn't it be fun trying while your darling empress watched you?" It might have been Dualscar's imagination, probably was if he was indeed speaking only through the computer and not with his flesh and blood lungs, but the Helmsman seemed to be breathing harder and speaking faster now, and he could hear wires rattling against each other.

"Are you gettin' off on this? How? You can't use your hands."

"I can... ah... I can get my bulge between my thighs, just about. The Empress likes to leave me hanging... haha, hanging. So even just a... a little can work." A pause, then the Helmsman cackled loudly. "Which makes you fucking perfect!"

"Oh, fuck you with Psiidon's Entente!" Dualscar snapped over his partner's laughter. "Has she tried that? I'd... oh fuck... love to see that." He slid the rings off his index finger - easily, lubricated as they were - and finally slid it inside. His fins and eyelids fluttered. He found himself glad his partner couldn't actually see him, as vulnerable as he must look. A redrom partner, yes, but what was this?

"Would you let her fuck you with it? I bet you would. Just to be near her. What would you give to please her?"

"My life, peasantblood, my life in service is already hers and she can end it whenever she wills."

"She can have that from any troll. We are all hers."

"My heart, then."

"She doesn't want it, and doesn't that just shatter it till nobody else can have it?" The Helmsman snickered at Dualscar's groan. "Would you give her what I did? Your sanity. Your freedom." Dualscar inhaled sharply, ceasing all movement, and the Helmsman must have known he'd hit a nerve. "Would you step into the wires by choice? Let her plug you in? Become the ship that carries her? Hold her and protect her even if she makes you loathe her?"

Dualscar's hands started working again, gripping tightly, a second finger slipping in as he started to fuck himself in earnest. "I-I... I can't. I have no powers."

"Would you if you could? Knowing you'd be bound in place for eternity, for longer than even a fishtroll should live, just for the kiss she'd need to make that happen? Bound hand and foot for all that time, too many wires to count wound in deep around your neuron strands, never even able to stand up on your own again. Would you bear that?" Dualscar's breathing quickened, and though he tried to hide it, the Helmsman caught the sound. "Or would that be a bonus? You kinky bastard."

"You disgusting little _shit!"_

"That's a yes," he said smugly. "You'd beg her for it, wouldn't you? Even as the wires burned into you? Never see your beloathed or any other troll again unless she willed it, as she took my diamond and my ashmates from me? Never sail your seas again, never stand in moonlight, never smell the air, only the endless dark. Never battle with your own hands, never taste fresh meat or water. Never even move more than your mouth again. Forever at her whims, subject to whatever she can do. Only her, and the ship. All for her. Would you?"

 _"Yes!"_ Dualscar barely realised the word was coming from his mouth, as he went rigid and spilled violet all over his shirt, his legs, the floor. His hips jerked, hard and fast, then slower, and he fell limply back to the floor, shaking, tears trickling down his fins. "Yes... for her. All for her."

Dry chuckles and crackling static from the console. "You're an interesting troll, Orphaner. I'd threaten to show the record of this conversation to the Empress, but I think I owe you one for keeping me occupied for a while. I'll erase it."

"See that you do." Dualscar let his breath ease, and sat up. "About what you said earlier... Were you just goadin' me when you said she fucked the Marquise in the black? Are you sure?"

"I'm afraid not. Quite definitely black. Still, I think today I helped you make things even on that score."

Before Dualscar could reply, the console whined and crackled again, and then went dead.


	3. LeoVir: ~the confidence~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Non-Sextrology content: generic of-age AU, dimorphic tentabulge-nook (i.e. boys have bigger ones), Kanaya being curious.  
> Sextrology:  
> -Nepeta: submissive/naïve females, femmes, crossdressing, strapping on, spanking/(active) lite s&m.  
> -Kanaya: ingénue roleplay, drag kings, business suits, dildos, crotchless underwear, (passive) lite s&m, fingernails.  
> -Both: doggy style, kinky lingerie.

"... and of course it would be terribly unfair to ask any of the boys."

"No, I get that," said Nepeta, her words muffled a little by the curtain behind which she stood. "Why this, though? I feel a bit... well, I hope John's dad doesn't find out."

"I can't imagine how he could, unless you plan to tell him."

"No way!"

"As for why, what better example do we have than a specimen so full of mangrit? If that provokes no reaction, I shall know I was definitely right."

"I guess." Nepeta emerged, finger caught in the knot of her olive-green tie. "Can you give me a hand with this? It's hard to tie at this angle."

Kanaya tutted and refastened the tie neatly at the neck of the pristine white shirt, appreciatively letting her hands brush Nepeta's tightly-encased chest and hips and the looser cloth around her waist. Her white slacks and jacket were sparkling clean and perfectly pressed, above olive-green wool socks and polished shoes, the one major incongruity being the large solid bulge under the fly buttons. One more touch; Kanaya tilted the white green-banded hat to a better angle, away from Nepeta's eyes, and tucked an errant strand of hair back under it. "Perfect." Nepeta giggled and thanked her with a kiss, and swept Kanaya up into her arms. Kanaya was taller and broader than her, and both laughed as they thought how odd they must look, but neither cared, and Nepeta carried her effortlessly to the pailing couch, kissing all the way.

Kanaya frowned as Nepeta's claws tore her shirt, but quickly forgot about it as they raked gently over her chest, down to her stomach. She gently pushed Nepeta's hands away and removed it herself, exposing a black bra trimmed with scarlet lace. Rather than remove it, Nepeta simply shoved the top edge down, trapping the folded cups under Kanaya's heavy breasts.

"Nepeta, dear, please, that is silk, it will crease. Why must you mistreat my belongings so- oooh... Oh, very well, continue." Kanaya relented as Nepeta's lips and left hand made contact, toying gently with her nipples and grubscars, while her right hand slid Kanaya's skirt up over her fine black stockings and discovered the matching garters. Going by Nepeta's purring, she approved heartily.

Kanaya deftly unbuttoned the slacks, exposing her goal; a fat green bulge made of flexible plastic, held in place by buckled leather straps, Nepeta's short and slender feminine bulge curling around it, probing the ridges and creases and filling them up with her genetic fluid. Kanaya gripped it carefully, getting used to the feel of it, stroking and squeezing, measuring the size and pursing her lips.

"Too big?"

"No, no, I think this will be quite workable. Just... be a little careful, please." Kanaya intentionally made her voice sound hesitant rather than practical, looking up from under her long dark eyelashes. A bit silly, and rather the reverse of how this scenario would go for most trolls; Nepeta, roleplaying as the "male", should theoretically be letting Kanaya take charge, as was tradition. Still, she knew Nepeta would be happier taking the lead and didn't mind this way at all. Nepeta proved her right, purring and snuggling against her breasts, the fake bulge pressing stiffly between Kanaya's legs, into the dampening patch on her skirt. She thought briefly, and said "I think seeing your face may be affecting the experiment a little - oh dear, that came out wrong. What I mean, Nepeta, is that you are very pretty and your face could not, this close up, be taken for that of a boy. Maybe I should have included some stage makeup..."

"No problem!" Nepeta said cheerfully, taking hold of Kanaya's hip and shoulder and flipping her over; Kanaya landed with an "oof!" and a laugh, followed by a groan as Nepeta pressed against her back and gripped her waistband. "How's this?" she purred in Kanaya's ear.

Kanaya knelt up and reached back to pluck at her skirt. "Absolutely perfect. Give me a hand, dear?" Nepeta growled happily and slid the garment off. Beneath it, Kanaya wore ruffled pettipants matching her bra, knee-length but snug, of beautiful material and excellent craftsmanship. She twisted around to watch Nepeta grin when she found the laced-up opening, now dripping with jade. "I wondered if you'd want them to stay on and I didn't want to risk tearing them," she explained.

Nepeta eagerly got to work undoing the knots with far more skill than she had had in fastening her tie, keeping her fingers pressing lightly against the flesh. "Did you make all your clothes? I love them, I know what I want for my wriggling day. Don't think I'd want to wear them all the time though, I'd rip them more easily than you, hee."

"Yes, well. Would you believe me if I said I had quite the black-pale confusion over you for a while when we were young? Oh yes. I thought either you were deliberately uncivilised or you needed a strict guiding hand... Silly of me. You're wonderful as you are."

Nepeta carefully slid the tip of the fake bulge in, and Kanaya's words were lost in a gasp.

"Okay?"

"Yes, yes, it's fine," Kanaya said, resting her forehead on a pillow. "Slowly, please, slowly, I'm not used to this..."

Nepeta bit her lip, and slid her fingers under the bulge to reach her own wet nook. "Okay, I don't wanna wait too long but if you want me to. I mean, if you change your mind say so and we'll do something else..." Kanaya shook her head and pushed back a little, and Nepeta slid in further, her real bulge just brushing Kanaya's nook. "Okay, good? Good. Bit more... There we go!" She actually clapped, and Kanaya stifled a laugh which made her tense awkwardly around the object. It was bigger than she was used to, but not bad at all, and she nodded, signalling Nepeta to start moving in earnest.

Nepeta leaned down, pressing her chest to Kanaya's back, and slowly slid her hips back, then forward, repeating the motion slightly faster when Kanaya murmured softly into the pillow. She slid a hand under Kanaya's body, gently squeezing and pulling at her breasts, and rested the other lightly on Kanaya's hip.

"You can use your claws if you want," Kanaya said, in a sweet tone which Nepeta knew meant "please do", and so she did, carefully pressing them in enough to sting without tearing Kanaya's fine underclothes.

"Are you... oh!" Nepeta almost squeaked as Kanaya's bulge slithered back and curled around the base of hers. "Oh yes! Are you okay there?"

Kanaya nodded, feeling more than okay, although still thinking through the pleasant foggy warmth. The stretch in her nook was more pleasant than she'd feared, improved greatly by Nepeta's more flexible bulge slipping around and seeking out the best spots. She peered over her shoulder; with the hat held on only by her horns, her hair slipping out from under it, and her cheeks flushed green, Nepeta looked beautiful. She pressed closer, her breasts squeezed against Kanaya's back, the unbuttoned jacket cloaking them and the loosened tie dangling. Kanaya could smell meat and milk on her breath, under the scent of the flowery shampoo Kanaya had leant her. Indeed, the masculine suit only succeeded in emphasising Nepeta's feminine qualities by contrast... Kanaya had indeed been right about her preferences, but she couldn't say the experiment was remotely unpleasant. Quite the contrary. With that, she gave up on thinking and surrendered to feeling.

With mingled green fluids pouring onto the bed at an increasing rate, Nepeta decaptchalogued a small bucket, suitable for a single mating, and tucked it between their knees. "I-I think I'm getting close," she hissed. "Anything I can do to h-helllp... oh!" She jerked her hips, hard, and pulled out to fill the bucket. "Sorry!" She untangled her bulge and let it retract, sliding the fake one in again. "Anything I can do to help you?"

"Well," Kanaya purred, pushing back. "Perhaps just a little pain? Carefully though." Nepeta grinned, and landed a quick spank. "Yes! Good. A little harder, please?" Kanaya's still-polite manner made Nepeta giggle, and she did as requested, again, until Kanaya groaned and spilled jade into the pail until it overflowed.

"So the experiment was a success?" Nepeta said, picking at her sticky shirt. "I think this is ruined though. Shame, you worked so hard..."

"Oh, I have some stuff that gets most stains out. I've washed Vriska's clothes successfully, this is no trouble." Kanaya sat up with a deep breath and pulled her bra cups back into place. "Yes, that certainly helped me work things out. Very enjoyable, but still, I don't think I need to proceed to step two."

"So you're going to disappoint the boys?" Nepeta snickered.

Kanaya placed a kiss on Nepeta's nose. "Of course, dear, I can't go running off with any of them. Where would that leave you?"


	4. AriTau: ~the counterpoint~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General content: Summoner/Handmaid, Grand Highblood/Handmaid, Grand Highblood/Condesce, Humanstuck, prostitution, infidelity.  
> Sextrology:  
> Handmaid: younger men, large penises, sex on-the-side, girl on top, (active) b+d, cuckolding, male strippers, escorts, first encounters, strangers.  
> Summoner: older, dominant females, Asian women, short hair, married women, cuckolding other men, gigolo roleplay (in this case not roleplay, but it's fiction so whatever), (passive) b+d, stripping.  
> Both: nibbling, biting.

The numbers lit up one by one, above the gleaming doors. He checked his red-streaked hair in the polished steel one more time, and glanced around the lift; it was bigger than some rooms he'd lived in, and plusher than any, which was good. Even if the job was awful he'd be walking out of here with a fat wad of cash. He might possibly even be able to upsell a bit. The call had been made by a man, but he'd been making the appointment on behalf of a woman and said he wouldn't be present himself, which sounded unusual until he mentioned cameras. He'd named an upfront sum even he thought was extortionate, and the client hadn't reacted with anything but a businesslike manner insufficiently concealing glee. He had hung up, hoping the woman in question was okay with it. He'd heard horror stories of friends of friends of his coworkers being sprung on unsuspecting clients. He really hoped the guy was actually going to be out, he'd sounded like a very big and very confident man and there was something creepy about his tone.

The lift chimed in a refined manner and the doors glided open, and Summoner stepped onto the deep green carpet of the top-floor hallway. The door was oddly forbidding, polished dark wood like a black hole in the green wallpaper. It took some nerve to press the gilded doorbell, less because of the creepy door than because of a nagging feeling that he'd be kicked out for leaving fingerprints on it, but he did, and was answered by a husky female voice calling "It's not locked. Take off your shoes."

He entered the flat's dark hallway, placing his shoes and suit jacket on the nearby racks, following the smell of cigarettes and incense through another open door into a bedroom that would fit most houses. More dark wood, black and jewel-toned wall hangings of abstract designs, thick fur rugs, and floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on the evening sky. Beside the window, tightly wrapped in gleaming burgundy silk, stood the woman who must be his client. He cleared his throat softly, and she turned. She was perhaps six or eight years older than him and not much shorter, with hair in a neat bob with two long strands hanging in front of her ears, and odd mahogany-coloured eyes which glinted almost red when she tilted her chin. A cigarette perched between her red-painted lips. Well, he got a pretty one this time.

"Good evening, madam," he said, taking her hand and letting his lips brush her knuckles, gazing up at her from under his eyelashes. Women loved that, he'd found. He hadn't been given a name, and the entwined double Ms embroidered over her left breast - one red, one purple - weren't much of a hint. "They call me Summoner, though I was summoned for you, Ms...?"

"Mrs Makara," she said in that husky voice, face expressionless. Her English grammar was impeccable, though a distinct East Asian accent still thrummed through her words. Japanese, possibly. Sexy, definitely. He was going to enjoy this. "My husband made the arrangements. A cash payment was agreed, I believe?"

"Cash up front covers travel fees, the first hour, and any specific requests, if you want more time we can work it out later," Summoner started to recite. "Condoms and lubricant supplied by me at no extra cost." Not that a few pennies for those one way or another would matter. "If you prefer not to use them I have a doctor's certificate, all my tests are up to date, came back clean. You prefer with or without?"

"With is fine."

"Good, that's good. I've got a few types with me, you can pick your favourite. Film or photos are okay for personal use only, not for public sharing or selling, and I can't show my face in them, sorry, but I'm told that wasn't what you and he were interested in anyway. I believe your husband said you wanted to tie me up?"

"Yes." Her faraway tone changed briefly to one of interest, and he inwardly grinned. He'd provoked a reaction. "If that is acceptable."

"Very." Not just for the extra money either. Hey, he liked his work. "So, we are in agreement?" She nodded; he briefly left to fetch the supplies from his coat pocket, and when he returned he found her taking a wad of cash, a camera, and a length of white silk rope from the bedside drawer. She sank deeply into the mattress of the gigantic wrought-iron bed, while he stood facing her and slowly undid his tie. She'd paid for a show. He loved that; his favourite clients were the ones who wanted to look, to appreciate the effort he went to in order to maintain the goods. The build-up time was useful, too. The big downside of the endowment which had earned him so much extra cash was the time it took to become fully ready. Practice had ensured it stayed that way a good amount of time once it was, though.

 

Anyway, time to get to work. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt, keeping his eyes on hers and a lazy smile on his face, exposing the carefully-maintained muscles of his chest and stomach, rippling under his light brown skin. He slid his arms from the sleeves and flexed a bit, then went for his fly, stroking to warm up the flesh beneath without revealing, gauging her reactions. Mrs Makara untied her dressing gown, revealing she was naked underneath, lay back, and let her hand travel downward, eyes on him.

Her movements were staccato, stiff, and he paused his routine with his hand still between his legs and gave her a brief questioning look; she seemed much less happy than most people about to get fucked. He wouldn't push for answers, but sometimes clients unburdened themselves emotionally as well as sexually with him. He'd wondered if he should charge extra for amateur psychiatry. Her gaze travelled from him to the bedside table, and he finally really noticed the silver-framed picture; it showed her perched in the lap of an enormous shaggy-haired man, an infant cradled in each arm. She reached over and pushed the frame to lie face down.

"Don't worry, we won't be interrupted. The children are with a friend of mine, and my husband is elsewhere." The final word had a bitter tone to it.

"I'm sorry you're having trouble," he said, moving over to rest a soothing hand on her silk-clad arm. 

She sighed. "I don't know. This was my husband's idea." Her voice became flatter, colder. "Right now he is with his lover. She is both a business partner and an old friend of his. He called this a fair deal."

"Ah, I see."

"It is not fair. He wishes to see me with another man. I wish more to see his woman dead."

"Oh. I'm so sorry." There wasn't much he could think of to say to that, so instead he sat beside her, leaned down, and placed a kiss on her cheekbone. He didn't do mouth-kissing at work, but she needed some affection.

"Why? You didn't make him go." She sighed again and sat up, dressing gown falling off her shoulders. "I would mind less if we were really competing! He worships the ground I walk on and all of us know it. I cannot gloat about having his love or even his money, all she wants is his friendship and sometimes his body, and she has all the money and all the power she wants without him. She's even older than him, never mind me, and she has two children too... why her?"

Summoner took her hand and stroked it gently, pityingly. "I can't help you there, but I hope I can make you feel better."

Wordlessly, she picked up the rope, and he removed the rest of his clothes, something of the enjoyment gone but his determination to do a good job increased. Undergarments hadn't been specified, so he'd gone without, and he hadn't gone back to complete flaccidity yet. He lay on the bed, arms up, and let her wind the rope through the bars of the headboard and around his wrists. He pulled experimentally, and nodded when the knots held without constricting. She shuffled the assortment of condoms he'd provided, selected one, and smeared a tiny drop of lube around the inside. He grinned up at her gratefully, and she gave him a small smile, raising her eyebrow in satisfaction, albeit not great surprise, when her small hand closed around him. She'd clearly dealt with one this large before. Mr Makara was proportioned appropriately for his height and bulk, presumably. That got him thinking about the man again. It was rude to think ill of those who paid him and unwise to become emotional about the job, but was Makara stupid, to have this woman and still be unsatisfied? Summoner put that out of his mind, and concentrated on achieving a functional erection. Quite easy, this time; Mrs Makara really did have gifted hands, with delicate fingers and expensively moisturised skin which he wished he could touch with his own hands again. He chewed his lip and felt sweat trickle down his brow; he couldn't remember the last time he'd become so hard so quickly on the job. She rolled the condom on, slicked it up with more lube, and dropped her robe in a heap on the floor. She was slender, but soft, and he noticed a C-section scar before she sank down on him.

She moved too quickly, and gritted her teeth in discomfort as she waited to adjust. Once she was comfortable, she started moving, roughly, grinding herself against his pelvis in a way he was sure would leave bruises. She picked up the camera, and he nodded; and she snapped a quick shot of their joined bodies, avoiding his face as he had requested, and showed him.

"Good one," he said.

"It's for my husband. Special request." She slammed her hips down even harder, speaking between gritted teeth. "Damn him. Damn Peixes, that whore... He's not even just sleeping with her tonight. He's taking her out to celebrate. She just found out she's pregnant again." At this her composure fully broke, and tears washed her mascara onto his skin as she fell forward and sobbed into his neck. "God, please tell me it's not his. Please..."

 

Summoner wished he could hug her. "I'm so sorry this has happened. You're right, it's not fair at all, and your husband is being a piece of shit. But, look, being miserable right now won't solve anything. Now I can think of two ways to make you feel better; you can untie me and we can just sit and talk, or you can get as much enjoyment out of this as you can because he's clearly not helping you there. Who knows, maybe when he sees the pics he'll get jealous and know how you feel, it's happened to me before when the guy was actually in the room." He shrugged as well as he could with his hands bound. "I still got him to pay me." Mrs Makara's sniffling was interrupted by a short laugh, and he smiled. "Either way, I can help you get some tension out, and then you'll be in a better state to talk to your husband." A thought struck him, and he turned his head to see her face. "Uh, not meaning to imply anything but will you be safe if you talk to him? He worried me."

"What? No, no, of course I'm safe! He's never been violent to me." Summoner didn't like the "to me" part, but let it go. "He's just... pigheaded." She sat up and wiped her eyes, and started moving again, more slowly. "I actually wouldn't mind so much if it wasn't _this_ woman. I can't stand her, I never have been able to even before I knew. She's been his best friend for years, I could just about put up with him seeing her then..."

"Okay, it sounds like she's important to him too even if you don't get on with her, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love you," he said, easing into the rhythm. "I don't see any reason he wouldn't."

She laughed. "I know it's your job to say that, but thank you."

"No, really. You're beautiful, and I haven't known you long but I can tell you're great, and if he doesn't appreciate you, go find someone who does. Does he make you unhappy in other ways?"

"No worse than any husband would," she said with a shrug. "I know he must sound terrible, but this is new. We were very happy before."

"Well, whatever you decide, you shouldn't have to put up with that..." Summoner arched his back as Mrs Makara ground down against him again, and she closed her eyes.

"Let's not worry about him for now," she said, actual happiness in her voice for the first time. The setting sun in the window made her skin gleam a deep orange, and the long front strands of her hair brushed over his nipples. "Sorry to take out my problems on you. Let me make it up to you?"

Summoner groaned in real pleasure as she leaned down and nibbled the same point on his neck she had cried into. "Certainly, ma'am."

~

Much later, she untied him, and left him to dispose of the condom while she walked, still naked, to the other room. He tied it off and dropped it in the bin, smiling. Often he didn't come with clients, unless they specifically asked him to, and she'd been damn good. He guessed she'd felt she owed him more than money. He rubbed the bitemarks on his neck and chest, and massaged his hands; the rope had had a safe amount of give, but holding his arms at that angle made them ache. She returned, and he laughed when he saw she'd brought hot cocoa, of all things. He didn't turn it down, though, of course, nor the generous splash of good whiskey she poured into it. It was frothy and warming, and as sweet as he thought her mouth must be. He still had not kissed her, and wouldn't. He was already recognising a dangerous level of emotion. Best to withdraw.

He finished, dressed quickly, flicked through the wad of bills, and flashed a dazzling smile. "Yes, that seems to be right, and thank you for the very generous tip..." He stopped, as she pulled her purse from the drawer and handed over more cash. "Mrs Makara, this is my entire fee over again! Are you sure-"

"I'm sure," she said. "In exchange, may I have a contact number for you? I enjoyed this more than I thought I would, and I think perhaps we can come to some arrangement."

"Of course, of course! I have cards in my coat pocket, show me to the door and I'll leave one with you."

"Thank you. Just one more thing..."

She gave him the camera, and he took one last picture of her smiling face.


	5. VirSco: ~the scandal~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General content: fill for kinkmeme request wanting Kanaya with corset piercings. Human anatomy.  
> -Kanaya: (passive) b+d, (passive) anal, (passive) s+m.  
> -Vriska: (active) ass play, mirrors, (active) b+d, (active) s+m, clothed sex, submissives, femmes, hourglass physiques.  
> -Both: piercings, vibrators.

"Ow!"

"Wiggler." Vriska stuck her tongue out at Kanaya's back.

"Vriska, the very point of this exercise is that it hurts. Don't complain when I say so."

"You're also not supposed to be the one bossing me around, fussyfangs."

"Ow! Very well, _please, mistress,_ be careful with those."

"Fine, fine." Vriska dipped the needle in disinfectant again - _picky, picky fussyfangs_ , she thought - and carefully measured the distance for the next ring, then drove it in. Instead of complaining this time, Kanaya made a soft murmur, evidently getting used to the sensation. Another, and another, and by the time the final ring was in Kanaya had relaxed. Vriska tapped the silver rings with her clawtip, counting them; a line of ring-tipped barbells down each side of Kanaya's back, topped with a broad spiral between her shoulderblades. "Okay, here we go with step two of eight."

"What are steps three onwards?"

"You'll see," Vriska said, grinning and starting to unroll the reel of black ribbon. "Hold still, little firefly, the spider's working."

Back and forth she wove the ribbon, making a tight loop around the narrowest point of Kanaya's waist for added decoration before bringing it back to the rings, crisscrossing it up the jadeblood's back and around and across the spiral at the top, snipping the length off the reel and finishing with a neat bow in the centre, forming a perfect spiderweb.

Kanaya craned her neck to see in the full-length mirrors. "Beautiful work, Vriska! It's perfect."

"Not yet. Steps three and four..." Vriska picked up a box and shook it. It rattled. "I brought loooooooots more rings, firefly. Hold out your arms." Kanaya's eyes widened, but she obeyed, and Vriska cackled.

The first barbell entered Kanaya's forearm with no problem, but the second, on the other side, made her pull away and say "Vriska, please be careful, there are veins there!"

"I know! Sheeeeeeeesh, Kanaya, I'm not going to kill you. I'm not into that." She chuckled. "Trust me, I know what I'm doing! Just let me show you. Please please please please please please please please?"

"Oh, all right!" Kanaya held out her arms again, and let Vriska repeat the crisscross pattern across both, binding them closely together.

"Okay, I hope there's enough ribbon left for this..." Kanaya knew about the hook in Vriska's respiteblock ceiling; Vriska artfully tossed the reel up and let it loop over the hook, catching it and tying the end back to Kanaya's wrists. As long as she stood with her feet together and her arms over her head there was plenty of give, but she decided it would be a bad idea to lower them. "There!... You okay with this? If you need to get down just grab it in your hands and pull, it should break at the hook, or bite through it. Just don't pull your arms down without holding on, that could get messy."

Kanaya plucked at the ribbon with her fingers, careful not to move her arms, and nodded. "Excellent idea. Step five would be...?"

"Sloppy makeouts and getting us both ready! What else?" Vriska stood in front of Kanaya, hands on hips, admiring her handiwork, and Kanaya returned the gaze; one still dressed in her usual plain jeans and jacket, the other wearing only ribbons and rings, each still calmly looking the other in the eye. Vriska let something drop from her sylladex and held it up, revealing it to be a blue egg-shaped vibrator with a cord attaching the control panel, one of her favourites. She looped the cord around her wrist, threw the other arm around Kanaya's shoulders, and managed to manouevre between Kanaya's bound arms to kiss her. A brief warm-up with Vriska's fingers soon had Kanaya's nook slightly slick. Vriska flicked the vibrator onto its lowest setting, and stroked it up Kanaya's thigh, making the jadeblood purr.

"Put the bucket down, I don't want us to forget it."

"Sheesh, am I doing such a bad job you can still think straight?"

"I think it's a bit soon for that to be a bad sign," Kanaya said with a chuckle. Vriska switched the vibrator up suddenly, and Kanaya tensed, trying not to pull on her piercings as a splash of jade landed on the floor. "Ah! I... I stand corrected. Still. Bucket."

One was produced, and Vriska positioned it behind Kanaya and unfastened her own rapidly blue-staining jeans. She decaptchalogued another toy, this one a curved green one, which she tucked into her soaking underwear, settled against her pubic mound, and switched on, before moving behind Kanaya, embracing her.

"You just want to be able to see yourself in the mirror, don't you?"

"Hell yes. I look awesome, why shouldn't I enjoy it?" Vriska rested her free hand on Kanaya's cheek. "And you should enjoy seeing yourself too. You're fucking hot, 'specially with these." She plucked at the ribbons, and Kanaya winced. "Sorry, did that hurt?"

"Indeed it did, but that wasn't a request to stop."

Vriska grinned, and pressed harder against Kanaya's back, her nipples hard under her shirt and pressing against two of the beribboned rings, which were placed conveniently enough to permit that to occur as she rested her chin on Kanaya's shoulder. The index finger of her left hand tucked under the woven ribbons and gently pulled, as the other hand flicked the vibrator's settings up all the way and eased it into Kanaya's nook. "Step six... fuck." 

Kanaya was at that moment too overwhelmed to ask if that was an exclamation or a statement. Her eyes closed and she allowed the waves of pleasure to flow through her, intertwining with the rhythmic pulse of her blood, the pressure of Vriska grinding against her back, and the sting in the piercings.  
She pulled a little too hard, and opened her eyes to see tiny beads of jade appear on her forearms to match the trickle down her thighs; she tried harder to hold still, which was made more difficult when Vriska began licking and sucking at her neck. Vriska's eyes met Kanaya's in the mirror, and she gave in to temptation and shoved her hand into her jeans in order to push her own vibrator inside. She shimmied her jeans and now-blue underwear down her legs, kicked them off one ankle, and straddled the bucket. Kanaya moaned softly and pressed her hips back into Vriska's groin, and heard the splashing of a bucket being filled over Vriska's stifled yelp.

Vriska relaxed, leaning her weight against Kanaya's back, and muttered "Dammit, you win!"

Kanaya laughed. "I've been practicing alone. I thought it was time I beat you."

Vriska kicked off her ruined jeans and underwear and held up the wet vibrator. "Fine, you want to play that way? Let's see how long you can hold out when I do this..." Kanaya opened her mouth to ask what Vriska was talking about, and gasped as a slick finger started to stroke the opening of her waste chute. "Well, you're sparkly clean. Guess your OCD has its benefits." Kanaya, breathing rapidly, spread her legs and tried to keep her arms up, clenching around the toy in her nook as Vriska let the second vibrator cup her. Vriska's finger pushed in, and the egg-shaped toy fell out in a rush of jade fluids and landed in the bucket.

"Fuck!" Vriska snatched it up, switched it off, wiped the controls, and flicked the switch a couple of times. "Phew. Waterproof." She decaptchalogued the disinfectant wipes Kanaya had brought and started to clean off her hands and the toys. "Time for step seven, cleanup and checking in... You doing okay?"

Kanaya blinked, coming back to reality, flexing her fingers and shifting her legs. "Wonderful, and I shall upgrade to perfect as soon as the blood flows back into my arms. I suppose it's a tribute to your skills that I didn't notice they were going numb."

"Ouch. Okay, hold still and remind me to use longer bindings if we do this again." Vriska produced scissors and cut the ribbon holding Kanaya's arms up. Kanaya let them fall, wincing and shaking her hands till Vriska took hold of them and massaged the blood back into them, carefully avoiding the piercings. They sat on the floor, easing down slowly as Kanaya's legs were still a little shaky, and Vriska started to unthread the ribbons, bit by bit. Both relaxed as Vriska's hands skilfully weaved the ribbons in and out again, Kanaya holding the unwound ends to prevent them getting tangled. Her forearms were finally freed, and Vriska went for Kanaya's back, but Kanaya held up a hand and stopped her.

"No, no, I think I'll keep those on for a while. Just clean them up, would you?"

"Sure, sure," Vriska said, mopping at the piercings with a wipe and handing Kanaya the packet so she could take care of the ones on her arms. "Be careful not to catch them on anything."

"Don't worry, I have no need to put my shirt back on yet," Kanaya said with a wink, and Vriska raised an eyebrow and snickered. "By the way, what's step eight?"

"Bragging online, of course!"

_"No."_


	6. *TW:RAPE FANTASY* CanAqu: ~the atelier~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General content: Dualscar/Signless, background Signless/Disciple and Dualscar/Condesce, genderbend, squished timeline, my headcanon of drones = cyborgified male jades, kidnapping, rape fantasies, Dualscar being a jerk, xenovagina. Speaking of which, kindly send me all your weird xeno ideas. Three hundred chapters of human junk versus tentabulges over and over will get very repetitive. With thanks to FailureArtist for the name "Circe's Crosshairs".  
> Sextrology content:  
> -Female Dualscar: zealots, libertarians, activists, freaks, small women, buxom bodies, (passive) degradation, (passive) b&d, casual no-strings sex, cheating, (active) ass play, role reversal, captive/slave fantasies,  
> -Female Signless: swinging/swapping, (active) b&d, domination/enslavement, rimming.  
> -Both: oral, swallowing, nipple play, tattoos, public sex.

She was Dualscar, the Orphaner. Terror of Alternia's seas, favoured warrior of His Imperious Condescension, defeater of a thousand enemies, pacifier of the horrorterrors. She ran a finger under the collar binding her to the wall and reflected that everyone had their off days.

Well, what did they expect? She'd been caught off guard, alone and drunk. Somehow the very same dirtblood preacher bitch she'd been hunting had managed to avoid being culled for lurking around a seadweller bar, and her psionic pet must have slipped something into Dualscar's drinks. That or she'd lost count. But no, surely it was their doing, not hers, she would never be so stupid or graceless. And now here she sat, still in her finest dress instead of her usual hunting garb, collared like a barkbeast, wrists bound, tied to the wall of a cave. The rope, tied to a ring in the wall, was long enough to permit her to reach a hole in the floor situated at a respectable distance, which implied she was going to be there for a while. Circe's Crosshairs was nowhere to be seen. They'd left her a water tankard by her side, a lantern just outside her reach, and a blanket under her, and she sat crosslegged on the latter object while pondering her options. They were limited. She certainly could pull on the rope hard and rhythmically enough to wear through it, but it would take more time than she had; one or other of her captors dropped in on her every so often to make sure she was still present, and even if she did break free they were lurking out of sight at the mouth of the cave, so she had no hope of getting out. Fuck them all.

What did they plan to do with her? Ransom? Yes, that made sense. Or perhaps they intended to take out their hatred of highbloods on her? She rubbed her neck, trying not to imagine a blade going through it. Or worse. She was a warrior, she could face death with dignity, but perhaps they had worse in mind.

She inhaled sharply and bit her lip. Of course that must be it, why else would they choose a highblood as beautiful as her? Yes, the rough greenblood with the great shaggy mane had looked at her like a cat watching a fish, appropriately enough. She imagined him pinning her face-down, the rough cave floor rasping against her fins, his teeth in her neck like a tomcat with his mate, his bulge slipping in and revealing itself to bear sharp barbs... Or possibly the jadeblood. He'd clearly left the caverns after beginning his adulthood and the hormone treatment male jades underwent, he was almost as big as an indigo and some of his cybernetic implants were still visible under his hair. How much of his drone instinct was still present? Enough to demand a bucketful from her, perhaps not enough that his own slurry wasn't a suitable mix with it. He could lift her one-handed by her wrists, or her neck, the other hand holding her hips still as she kicked, and lower her down ever so slowly on a bulge that could rip her in half, the bucket between their legs filling up with slurry and a little blood... Or the pissblood, she was telekinetic, would she make use of that to hold her captive down when her skinny limbs weren't up to the job? Pin her to the wall, or the floor, or just hold her in midair while the little four-horned bitch laughed and used those gorgeous fangs on her, then maybe used the same psionics to force her to her knees and hold her mouth open...

"Shall I come back later?"

Dualscar's eyes snapped open as the amused voice knocked her out of her reverie, and she realised she was leaning against the cave wall, flouncy silk skirts hiked up around her waist, three fingers deep in her nook already though she was barely wet. She winced, and withdrew her hand carefully, reminding herself not to get carried away so quickly. She pulled her skirt back down and looked up.

Oh yes. The troll standing before her was none other than her target, the Signless. Short and buxom, messy-haired, one hand holding a grubloaf and the other resting on her well-proportioned hip, her cloak open to reveal a strapless bodysuit trimmed in that ghastly blasphemous red. Her eyes glinted the same shade in the lantern's light. So it was true. Dualscar licked her lips, thinking of how that red would taste... No, now was not the time. She cleared her throat and sat up straight, wiping her fingers on the blanket.

"Finally!" she snapped. "I demand to know why you're keepin' me here! How dare you treat a seadweller this way, you off-spectrum shit? I suggest you let me go right now afore I'm late to work and the Vast Glub gets sung!"

"That is actually why we're holding you here," Signless said. "We're giving you a holiday! Aren't you pleased? My Disciple is the best hunter I've ever known, and he and Daddy intend to leave attached lusii alone and take free beasts. While you're here, no infant trolls will be left to starve. We merely wish to prove it's possible. We'll keep you healthy and send you back to the Emperor after a week or two with the message."

Dualscar scoffed. "Lowbloods taking on the duties of an Orphaner? He'll never accept it, and you have no right to hold a highblood hostage! You preach kindness and yet you trap me and leave me tied up here?"

"I don't see how it matters who's feeding Gl'bgolyb as long as he gets fed." Signless glanced over Dualscar's skirts, and the wet mark on the blanket. "Besides, it seems you found a way to keep yourself occupied."

Dualscar's fins flushed and she muttered "Candyblood cunt. I should take your Trolldad to the depths next."

"Let me remind you I'm the one holding you hostage and Daddy could pull your limbs off if he wanted. However, I shall choose to be the bigger troll. Would you like some grubloaf?" Dualscar nodded, and Signless knelt, broke off a chunk of loaf, and put it between Dualscar's bound hands. "Sorry about this. Little extra precaution."

Dualscar gently trailed a claw over Signless' fingers as she drew back. "Not a problem."

"No, you can't seduce me into taking the ropes off."

"Bugger." Dualscar took a bite of the loaf, and chewed resentfully.

~

Nights passed, and judging by the fact that they were all still alive Dualscar could only assume the greenbloods were succeeding in their mission to do her job for her. Dualscar was fed well; for the first night she was sure the coarse bread and unspiced meat was some sort of punishment, and she was mildly embarrassed later to realise her captors were feeding her exactly the same food they ate themselves. She was given fresh water to drink and wash with as well as she could, and salt water to wet her gills. She slept poorly, having only a thin blanket on an earthen floor and little chance to move around and make herself as tired as she was used to, but she managed. Her captors came in and talked to her every so often, so at least she wasn't as bored as she'd expected to be. Once they left, she managed to occupy herself, kneeling over the hole in the floor on shaking legs with her hands under her skirts, hoping her captors didn't notice when they kindly emptied leaves and campfire ashes into the hole at dawn and dusk to block any smell. Twice she succeeded in breaking the rope binding her hands, and twice she was politely reprimanded by the insufferable mutant and re-bound, the rope burns treated with a cold sweet-smelling ointment. She was sure Signless was enjoying that more than she should. She herself certainly was, and Signless must have noticed but didn't seem to be objecting.

"Look, if I take your message back, what's in it for me?" she asked one night, putting down the wet rag she'd been using to wash her hair as well as she could.

Signless paused in refilling her drinking water and blinked at her. "Your freedom?"

"You can hardly just come and recapture me if I don't pass the message on."

"Good point." Signless sighed. "Fine, fine." To Dualscar's surprise, she shrugged, put down the jug, and stripped off her cloak.

"Wait, are you serious?"

"I thought that was what you wanted. And I must admit I'm curious. Never been with a seadweller."

"Well..." Dualscar tried to appear nonchalant. "Which quadrant? 'Cause I have a kismesis and I thought you had a matesprit. The cat feller."

"My Disciple? It's... more complicated than that. He certainly won't _mind,_ if that's what you mean. We're together and nobody else will change that."

"Ah." Dualscar licked her lips as Signless started to unbutton her suit. "How sweet."

"No, I'm not going to untie you."

"Fuck!"

"If you complain too much I'll walk away," Signless warned. Her suit was now rolled down to her waist, and Dualscar observed her plump venom globes and red-tinted nipples and grubscars with glee and a slight pang of envy. She nodded in understanding, and Signless knelt between her legs and started unlacing her bodice. She slid the lusus-fur shoulder straps down the seadweller's arms as far as they would go, and raised an approving eyebrow at the tattoos she had exposed.

"Beautiful work," she said, tracing the lines with her claws. Complex lace-like patterns came together to shape sharks and squid cutting through waves, birds soaring among clouds, beasts lurking between trees. One gill-slit became the mouth of a great whale. "I love the colours... I wouldn't have taken you for the kind to want the full spectrum on your body."

"It's done with lusus blood," Dualscar said proudly. "Some o' my greatest conquests."

Signless' hands stilled. "Charming."

"Hey, you already knew my job."

"True." Signless leaned forward and traced the tattoos again, this time with her tongue. Dualscar purred and gripped Signless' waist between her legs. "Do you have more elsewhere?"

"Oh yeah." Dualscar cupped Signless' breast between her bound hands. "You want one? I know a lass who does 'em. I think one right here would suit you..."

"I can't have a stranger do them, they'd see me bleed."

"Oh, right. Sorry. A piercing, then? I can do that myself."

"Yes, Orphaner, I'm absolutely stupid enough to let my prisoner near my body with a sharp object," Signless said with a sigh, and Dualscar snickered.

"Worth a try." She squeezed and stroked the flesh, claws pressing in lightly. "Seriously, it'd suit you. Jewellery draws the eye, no sense in letting anyone miss these beauties."

Signless' breathing was becoming heavy, and she looked away, occupying her hands with shoving Dualscar's skirt up to her waist. She ran her fingertips along the newly-exposed inks showing through the seadweller's dirty stockings, and frowned as her nails snagged and tore the cloth. "Bother! Sorry about that."

"No, no. Continue," Dualscar purred. Her outfit was already ruined, the white fur collar a grubby grey from sleeping on a dusty floor and the silk smelling like a week in a cave, and now the mutant was so desperate to take her she was tearing into it, taking out her contempt for her betters on the trappings of their station. How utterly delicious. The dress alone cost more money than Signless would see in her entire probably-short life, but Dualscar had plenty more. She'd keep this one for lonely days. To give Signless some help, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her bloomers, raised her hips, and pushed the garment down. Signless pulled them all the way off and pushed Dualscar's thighs apart, and burst out laughing. "What?!"

"Oh my, so it's true. It glows!" Signless' fingers traced the frills of flesh and let the tendrils wind around her fingers, examining the bioluminescent gleam. "Do seadwellers really need the extra help to find it?"

"Hey, it's _dark_ in the deep ocean, okay?" Dualscar grumbled. "I can't help evolution."

"Will my tongue glow when I'm done?"

"Only one way to find out-" Dualscar had barely got the words out when Signless dived in.

She was sloppy, but enthusiastic, her blood running far hotter than that of anyone the seatroll had ever been with before, and Dualscar squirmed as the red-tinted mouth worked over her, gently sucking the wriggling fronds, kissing the skin. Signless' teeth were blunt, and the flat fronts and rounded tips pressed against her pleasantly; she imagined how hard the outlaw would have to bite to pierce the skin. Her tongue plunged in, and Dualscar gritted her teeth to block a yelp. Signless looked up, her lips purple.

"Don't try to stay quiet," she said, nodding towards the short curved tunnel leading out of the cave. "This has happened before, they like to hear."

"What? Even your lusus? I don't think mine would want to hear me pail any more than I'd want to watch her..." Dualscar tried not to let the mental image of her lusus filling her mate's pouch with eggs ruin her more interesting fantasies.

"Orphaner, my daddy's half a drone. He's not going to kill me for _not_ pailing, but he likes to know I am. Says it's healthy." Signless ducked back down, and this time Dualscar didn't restrain herself, moaning and begging for more, hoping she could be heard. Perhaps her audience would come and see. The preacher's Trolldad, the Dolorous, angry that his grown wriggler was fraternising with the enemy? Disciple, in a fit of jealousy? Psiioniic, wanting to join in? All of them? Oh, _yes..._

Sitting up permitted her to reach Signless' breasts and continue massaging them, as she looked down at Disciple's clawmarks decorating her back; the outlaw's movements became less coordinated and she groaned, pulling back briefly to wipe off the venom beading on her nipples. "Careful." Dualscar noted her face was flushed dark grey, her pupils dilated. She was loving this. Dualscar smirked and pinched her nipple lightly, careful not to press too hard on it; troll skin was of course mostly proof against troll venom, which was meant as a last-resort defence against large beasts, but it could still hurt.

Signless reached down and unbuttoned the opening at the crotch of her suit, letting her fingers trail between her fronds, and returned her attention to Dualscar's nook, leaning her weight on her free arm. Dualscar brought her hands up to knead her own chest, and her soft moans quickly turned to throaty cries and then to shrieks, intentional attempts to catch the attention of anyone listening. Yes, let them hear, let them know she was unbroken, whatever they could do she would take with a smile... Her fronds locked, and she howled as her nook swelled full of violet slurry. Signless worked it open, and the fluid gushed over her chin and chest and onto the earthen floor.

Dualscar, panting, watched Signless lick her lips and swallow, and felt her nook pulse hard again, the fronds locking tightly together again. She picked up the water tankard, drank deeply, and smirked. "Your tongue's not glowing."

"Good." Signless' hand was still between her legs; Dualscar, feeling generous, dropped the empty tankard, knelt up and gently slid her still-bound hands up the preacher's thigh, letting their hands brush. "Returning the favour doesn't get you out of the previous bargain, sorry."

"I know, I know. I'm curious too. I've never been with a mutant."

Signless scowled and dug her claws into Dualscar's hand. "That's not a very nice thing to call someone who just made you come," she said in a dark tone which sent wonderful shivers down the Orphaner's spine. "But if you're so keen..." She gripped Dualscar's horn and pushed her down to all fours, letting her rest on her forearms, head level with the outlaw's nook. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you like being the prisoner of a... what was it? 'Candyblood cunt'? I think I'm owed an apology. I'll take it in trade."

Dualscar was positioned at a terrible angle for the task, but she did her best, lapping at Signless' thighs and seedflap, trying to get closer until her nose was pressed into the redblood's belly. Her nook was as hot as her mouth, not all that different from a seadweller's, covered by the soft frilly flesh of her seedflap which drew back to expose the tiny squirming fronds within. The biggest difference was that gloriously freakish colour, which was now staining Dualscar's face. With careful nudges, she encouraged Signless to sit rather than kneel, allowing better access, and was able to work her tongue in, trying to be careful with her needle-like teeth. As Signless started to pant rapidly and push her hips up to meet the seadweller's movements, Dualscar slid her tongue out and ran it teasingly over the seedflap, then looked up to watch Signless' eyes widen as she moved lower. She was clean, at least. Trickles of red were running down from her nook to the ground; Dualscar licked them away as fast as they came, until Signless pulled her up.

"You'll forgive me if I don't kiss you, but since you're so fond of using your mouth..." She pushed Dualscar's face into her chest, still sticky with violet. "Clean up this mess." Dualscar obeyed with enthusiasm, lapping and sucking and lightly scraping her teeth over the skin, Signless' cries growing louder. Dualscar was impressed, this was the first time she'd encountered someone she could get quite this worked up this way. She sucked at a nipple too hard, burned her tongue, and spat. Signless caught her in a tight embrace, gripping her collar, and Dualscar shifted her head so as not to suffocate, not that that was a way she'd mind going. She brought her hands up and caught one breast between them, and kept her mouth on the red grubscar just under the other until Signless screamed and spilled red on the floor. 

Applause and whoops sounded from around the tunnel corner, and Signless yelled _"Dad!_ Tell them to quit it!" Louder applause from a pair of enormous hands joined the sounds, and Signless groaned.

Dualscar chuckled. "Nice to know he thinks I did a good job. I guess a jade would know." She dropped back to all fours, looking up at Signless from under her eyelashes. "We could always test it again..." She lapped up some fluid from Signless' thigh, and the mutant shivered.

"Sorry, I think I'm worn out," she said, smiling. "Not that I don't appreciate the offer. Thank you. You'll keep your end of the bargain?"

"Sure, sure. Well, if you ain't up for it, I don't suppose they might be?" Dualscar nodded in the direction of the cave entrance. "Try it themselves?"

"I'm afraid that's not going to be possible. See, you're about due to go to sleep."

"What? No I'm not-" Signless' eyes flicked over to the empty tankard. "Fuck!" Dualscar's head started to swim, and she collapsed face-down on the floor. Signless pulled her head out of the slurry puddle and stood up over her, rebuttoning her clothes.

"Sorry about this, but we can't take you home while you're awake, you'll remember where we are. Don't worry, it's just a sleeping draught, it's perfectly safe, you'll wake up somewhere you recognise and we'll be gone. You can even have your gun back. Aren't we nice?"

~

His Imperious Condescension slouched upon his throne, toying idly with his hair as Dualscar knelt at his feet, weeping into her hands, her dress tattered and stained.

"...and, and they, well..." She swallowed hard and pointed to her dress, showing the cherry-red stains and the rips she'd carefully put in it. "Oh, it was terrible, my lord, terrible, they're like wild beasts! They sent me back as an example, said this is a highblood's place!"

His Imperious Condescension ran his gaze over her and smirked briefly before assuming an expression of pity. "Aw, my poor gill. Clam yourshellf, speak to the medicullers. We'll get 'em back a thousandfold, darlin'."

Dualscar's fins flushed and she fanned herself. He'd called her _darling._ Her plan to earn his pity was working! She climbed to her feet, making quite a show of pain and standing with her legs noticeably apart, bowed deeply and slunk towards the door, snickering to herself. She felt a little bad, but Signless already had a warrant out on her, and if she was smart enough to capture the Orphaner she was smart enough to avoid capture herself. Still, she owed her enough to give her a little help; she'd claimed she'd been captured not only after a great and bloody battle but also at a location as far away from the real one as she thought she could convincingly claim.

A great shadow fell over her and she turned to find herself face to ribs with the Grand Highblood. The enormous troll looked down at Dualscar, plucked a shred of red-trimmed black cloth from under her sash, and bared her fangs. "Can the logbeast tears, fishsis. You stink like a barkbeast in heat and I can read your motherfuckin' lies clear as the holy murals."

Dualscar blushed very deeply and giggled nervously.


	7. AriLeo: ~the gold~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General content: Damara/Meulin, mentions of Meulin/Kurloz and Damara/Rufioh, Humanstuck, high school AU, genderbent Meulin, mentions of smoking and drug use.  
> Sextrology:  
> -Damara: girl on top, on the floor, humiliation, (active) seduction, sweat, body odour, first encounters  
> -Male Meulin: long raven hair, fresh scents, schoolgirls.  
> -Both: locker rooms, rough-housing/wrestling, biting, humping/frottage.

The last few students were doing up their shoelaces and combing their hair by the time Meulon Leijon entered the changing room from the soccer field, and by the time he'd found and arranged his shower gel, comb, towel, and clean clothes, he was the only one left. He sighed. Being deaf hindered him much less than many people assumed, but it did mean talks with the teachers about how he was doing occurred much more often and lasted much longer. Miss de Leon the PE teacher was a bit slow with sign language and had a cleft lip so reading her speech was difficult. He liked her very much, but communicating with her was a pain, mostly done via his emergency notepad. Still, he'd improved in leaps and bounds once he'd learned to pay close enough visual attention to his team-mates, and this week he'd even scored the winning goal for the first time, earning obviously raucous applause of which he greatly appreciated the sight.

Being deaf also meant he got the shock of his life when he finished pulling his shirt free over his head to reveal a girl standing in the doorway. He screamed briefly, and she slid forward, finger pressed to her painted lips. He recognised her now; Damara Megido, one of the resident troublemakers. Kurlyz rather liked her, though the sentiment was not returned, not that she took it personally as Damara didn't seem to like anyone very much. According to Rufioh, who had known her via the internet before she transferred to their school, she used to be a sweet kid but puberty had taken its toll. Up close, he noticed dark shadows lurking under her eyes and clove cigarettes and marijuana underscoring the smell of her lemongrass soap. She was back in her green and white school uniform, shirt open one more button and immaculate makeup much more noticeable than school regulations permitted, and her hair still smelled warm from blow-drying.

"HI, DAMARA!" he said, unable as usual to control his volume. "THIS IS THE BOYS' CHANGING ROOM, I THINK YOU'RE IN THE WRONG-"

"Shush!" she said, clasping a hand over his mouth. She gave him a brief smirk, and said something he couldn't understand at all. His friends had told him her accent was incomprehensible to listen to, and now he realised trying to lip-read it was no better. Meenah had asked him to translate at one point, and he'd told her the only Japanese he knew consisted of bits and pieces he'd picked up from the anime club and the sentence "I'm Korean and you're an asshole."

"WH-" He cleared his throat, and carefully mouthed _What?_

Damara rolled her eyes, and carefully mouthed words which made Meulon squeak. "You won. You get a prize. Here I am." She started to unbutton her shirt, and smirked at him.

Meulon flailed his hands in the hope Damara would get his point without anyone overhearing him. He took his notepad and pencil from his bag and wrote SOMEONE WILL HEAR!!!!

Damara took it and quickly wrote EVERYONE IS GONE. YOU SCARED? I LEAVE.

Meulin wrote back I DIDN'T SAY LEAVE!!, following it with a quick doodle of a sad cat face which made Damara look at him strangely. To be honest, he was tempted. It had been a while since Kurlyz had left him, though they were still friends, and Damara had apparently had a bad breakup with Rufioh and could probably do with a friendly encounter. It was lunchtime now, so they had an hour before the next class arrived... The teachers might still be around, though. What if Miss de Leon realised they hadn't left and came in to check on them?

Damara was waiting, looking impatiently at him. Meulon mentally shrugged. How many times would he get this chance? He nodded and, still trying to be quiet for fear of teachers, mouthed _Okay!_ No sooner was the word out than he dropped the notebook and pencil as Damara crushed him in a firm embrace and pulled his head down to lock lips, smearing her dark lipstick. He pulled back, wiping his mouth and blushing, and gestured awkwardly to the shower and to himself. He hadn't showered yet, his kit was sweaty and sticking to him, and he was sure he must smell awful. She nodded, not seeming at all put off; in fact, she buried her face in his neck and inhaled. He returned the gesture, smelling the fruity tang of her soap and shampoo as she nibbled lightly at his collarbone.

He yelped and laughed as she pushed him to his knees, then backwards onto the floor, his sweaty hair forming a bushy dark halo around him on the tiles. She knelt over him, looking down curiously at his blush as she removed her blazer and loosened her tie. "You do this before?" she enunciated carefully. He blushed darker, and held up three fingers. "Three girls?" He shook his head, held up one finger, whispered Kurlyz' name, then three again. Damara chuckled, and Meulon covered his face with his loosely-clenched hands. She took his wrists and eased them away, smiling and saying "It's okay." She pressed her behind against his thighs, and looked over to his gym bag. He looked up quizzically, and she said "Condoms?" He frowned and shook his head. He'd stolen the ones he used with Kurlyz from his mother's handbag, and hadn't expected to soon be in a situation where he'd need any more. She slapped her forehead and groaned, and he grabbed her arm, pleading with his eyes for her not to be angry. She relaxed, nodded, and shifted her weight while hiking up her skirt, ending up settling his clothed erection in the crease between her buttocks. He couldn't see from this angle, and he wondered if her underpants matched the maroon-trimmed bra that had been visible even before she undid her shirt. They didn't, as he discovered when he lifted her skirt hem to discover plain black briefs. Presumably she cared less about the appearance of those as fewer people would see them, even if as rumour had it the difference was not huge. He slid three fingers inside the briefs, earning a nod of approval and the slow removal of her shirt, which he watched with a grin.

It wasn't how it had been with Kurlyz. Those times had been slow and lazy, slightly stoned two times out of three, feeling out their way as they went. The movements of Damara's hips were quick and rough, grinding his hand uncomfortably between their pubic bones and pressing her fortunately small weight slightly too hard against him. He raised his knees and braced his feet on the floor, letting her lean back and press his erection between his thighs and her rump, freeing his hand.

Suddenly, she froze and turned to the door. From the way she tensed he guessed she'd heard footsteps. Miss de Leon. Both students stayed still, Damara waiting for the footsteps to fade; she must be entering the staff's room. Damara leaned down to Meulon's ear, remembered that would be no use, and moved to let him see her mouth form the words _Stay quiet!_ He nodded, and gritted his teeth in an effort to obey as she leaned back again and unbound her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. He reached up and brushed his fingers through the tips, and let his hand land on her breast. Her skin was flushed and warm, and sweating again, though not as much as he was.

He was taken by surprise when she clenched her thighs around him, gasping and jerking her hips and shoving his hand harder against her. He felt a rush of pride - he'd only got Kurlyz to come once, and not before he had - before his breath was knocked out when she slipped and sat down on him. She looked down apologetically, and he scowled childishly, making her snicker and gently pat his face. He gripped her hips and rolled over on top of her, immediately felt guilty and was about to get up and back off when she grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him closer. He was pleased to see she seemed much more relaxed now; her smile even looked real. He straddled her and ground down against the front of her skirt, and bit down lightly on her neck as she pushed up roughly against him and clawed at his back.  
It didn't take long for him to follow her over the edge, chewing on her shirt collar and hoping that stifled his noise enough, and when he was done he rolled off her and collapsed on the tiles, panting as hard as he had been when he left the football field and ruefully looking at the wet patch on his white shorts. Damara got up, straightened her skirt, and put her shirt and blazer back on, Meulon watching her with a grin still on his face.

She looked down at him, and he picked up the fallen notebook and drew a huge smiley face on the next clean page. Damara nodded, and produced cigarettes. SORRY, I'M TRYING TO QUIT, he wrote, and quickly added BUT I MAKE GOOD BROWNIES!!!, followed with a winking cat face and a crude seven-pointed leaf. Damara smirked approvingly. She stood up, placing a cigarette between her lips, took his shower gel from the bench and threw it nonchalantly to him, and headed for the door.

He jumped up, hit the shower button and, sound mostly covered by the rushing water in case Miss de Leon was still around, called "WAIT!" She turned, and he said "SEE YOU LATER?"

She looked him in the eye, half-smiled, nodded, and was gone. He grinned, stripped off his soiled clothes and stood under the shower, already mentally planning a new sketch for his shipping wall.


	8. AriGem: ~the hunger~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General content: pre-Scratch male!Aradia/Sollux, kismesissitude, human anatomy.  
> Sextrology:  
> -Male Aradia: domination, topping, forcing, lithe bodies, long legs, body scents, (active) b&d, (active) anal, (active) assplay, (active) s&m, rough-housing/wrestling/pinning, teasing, being begged.  
> -Sollux: bottoming, forced submission, (passive) b&d, (passive) s&m, spanking, hairy chests, rough trade,   
> -Both: humiliation, leather, briefs, clamps.

In the pink moonlight his blue eye turns dark and his red one burns bright, and his yellow sigil and the blood from his bitten tongue turn a sickly orange. His fangs gleam as you pick him up and haul him onto his desk, shoving his state-of-the-art keyboard off it; a gift from his culler. It makes a cracking sound. You hope it's beyond repair. He pokes out his forked tongue.

"Theeth, AA, wath that nethethary?" He exaggerates his infuriating lisp, and your bulge pulses hard. A blue and red glow starts to encircle your wrists, but you catch it in time, and sink your teeth into his shoulder, distracting him enough to lose control, and use your own psionics to slam his hands down onto the desk. You suspect he's letting you win this time. No matter, you can punish him for it. He sniffs your mass of hair, and pulls a face. "Rebelth not get much chanthe to bathe on the run?"

"Better than having the chance and not using it," you say, sniffing him. His hair is slightly greasy and his shirt is stained with spilled soda, and his skin smells a little sour. "How does your owner let you get away with that? I'd have thought a seadweller would drag you into water."

He chuckles. "Aw, you know you love it, man." You don't mind it, in fact, but you prefer fresh sweat, the kind beading on your bodies right now from the exertion with which you destroyed most of his plush respiteblock. The filthy shirt has to go, and can join the junk pile for his culler to replace as well; you rip it right down the front, making sure to keep your claws on his skin so he's too distracted to work his psionics effectively. Your fingertips ripple over his protruding ribs, and he gasps.

"Doesn't your owner feed his fucking pets?" you say, shoving your pants down and starting to rub your maroon pre-fluid over your bulge. "You're so thin."

"Don't get pale on me, AA, and I'm not Ampora'th pet." He pulls at his psychic bonds, unable to free his wrists and forearms from the desk. "I don't get why you don't think I'm getting the better end of the deal here. I get free food, free computer thit, free medth - my mood'th better than ever."

You laugh. "Seems like the only thing not free is you."

He hooks one sneakered foot under your shirt and shoves it up to your armpits, scraping the edge of his sole painfully over your grubscars, and you slide closer and press up between his legs so he can't repeat the action, letting him wrap his skinny legs around you and lick his lips as he observes the coarse fuzz on your chest, contrasting sharply with his smooth one. You used to wonder if his culler shaved him, but no, it's natural. Both he and the desk are the right height for you to lean forward and bite his grubscars as you tear his jeans off and dump them in the pile at your feet.

You bark out another laugh. "Captor, really. Tighty whiteys? Are you three?" He shrugs and grins obnoxiously, and uses his psionics to drag your hand to the garment in question, the front now less white than yellow, and you slip your fingers in, finding his bulge. He does have the figure for those things, you admit, slender and smooth and boyish. You rip them off, and shove them in his smirking mouth.

He locks his duplicated horns against your huge set, hissing enviously, as you start to work him open, carefully, not wanting your kismesis to die of peritonitis and enjoying the way he pushes back against your fingers. You know he's dying for it and you take great pleasure in moving more slowly the harder he tries to force it along, lubricating your fingers with the steady flows from his bulge and yours. He extends a tendril of light to position a bucket between your feet, and inhales deeply as you lean forward. He spits out the cloth in his mouth to speak. "Thith coat real hoofbeast hide? I like it."

"It's waterproof," you say with a shrug. You skinned the beast yourself, and someone in the underground who can sew owed you a favour. You find something soothing in the bulk of the garment embracing your sturdy shoulders, and Captor appears to be enjoying it as well. "Ask your culler for one for yourself." He doesn't reply, rubbing his face against the coat; he smirks at you, and sinks his huge fangs into it. "Fuck! Stop that, you're going to leave holes in it!" You slap his rump as hard as you dare, which backfires as he just clenches his teeth harder to muffle a yell. You peel your coat free and slap again, and he groans and jolts, shocking you with his psionics. "Fine, if you want to make trouble..." You chuckle wickedly.

The drawer in his desk is undamaged, and you get it open and find what you want by feel. The clamp goes onto his right grubscar, and you cinch it as tight as you dare at the same moment as you plunge into him.

"Aaah!" He grits his teeth, trying not to shout loud enough to bring his culler running, and clenches down on you. You watch him struggle to lift his hands, to reach his other grubscar. "Fuck, AA, fuck, uthe the other, you know I can't take jutht one, I need two..."

Cruelly, you twist the clamp, and bear down on him, pushing yourself in to the base and pressing your weight on him. "You know what I want first, Captor," you growl in his ear.

He doesn't give in yet, of course, that would be no fun. Your coat forms a tent around the pair of you, smelling of both of you now. His hair is a spiky mess, but your great curly mop is worse, tangling around your horns and matting with sweat, and as your chests press together the hair on yours scratches him. His shoes scrape at your back, and he tries to pull himself up from his psychic bonds or pull your hand away with his own, but you hold firm and smack him on the rump a few more times as encouragement, leaving the beginnings of a bruise.

Finally he gives up, with a high-pitched hiss. _"Aradai! Aradai Megido!"_

At the sound of your hatchname, the truest sign of a trusted quadrant, you last long enough to apply the other clamp and twist hard as you pull out and fill the bucket. You let his hands go, and he shoves two fingers into his still-open body and finishes himself off within moments.

You pull your pants back up and let him unfasten the clamps himself. "Any lasting damage? Don't want you to have to explain anything serious."

"Why, AA, if I didn't know better I'd think you cared," he says with a smirk, wiping his fingers on your shirt. You scowl. "No, I'm fine."

"Don't get your hopes up, it's purely selfish. Can't tell your wannabe lusus you're pailing a rebel, can you?"

"Ampora'th not my luthuth, jutht a thtupid theathucker." Captor intentionally picks S words, and showers your face in spit.

"I don't understand why you'd want to live with a seadweller too stupid to live in, you know, _the sea."_ You shrug and head for the window, but pause on the way out. "The offer to come with me is still open, you know. If you're not too attached to this fancy life."

Captor shakes his head. "You know I can't, and it'th nothing to do with that. Ampora needth thomeone around, if it'th not me he'll get thomeone who can't handle him." He's irritating beyond measure, but he's honest. You feel a pang of disappointment, and another of envy. No, you can't quadrant-flip. You push the thought away.

"Well." You shrug again. "See you next time." You jump from the window, land on your feet, and flee.


	9. GemAqu: ~the jamboree~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General content: kinkmeme fill for genderbent Eridan/two Solluxes, non-SGrub AU, vague anatomy (still open to ideas).  
> Sextrology:  
> -Female Sollux: exhibitionism, standing sex, (passive) nipple play, fingering, licking, lace, private parties.  
> -Female Eridan: voyeurism, (active) nipple play, role reversal, sitting on face.  
> -Both: anonymous/casual sex, oral, biting, threesomes, crossdressing/drag, masks, costumes.

Glittering gems and swirling silk filled the ballroom, glimmering under the light of dozens upon dozens of tall white candles, the eyes of the dancers flashing behind their masks. Many wore complex headdresses to hide their horn shapes, most often ones designed to provide the impression of the horns below being much bigger than they were, obliging some to wear high collars or heavy jewels to conceal neckbraces. Below the neck, their costumes struck careful balances between titillating exposure and enough surface area to hold as much expensive decoration as possible. Off-spectrum shades predominated, blacks and whites and greys, flush-red and pale-pink, while others wore many shades at once, and some attendees peered through fine mesh veils or dark-lensed spectacles to conceal their irises. Of course none but the servants holding trays and bottles were really below cerulean, but the illusion amused them all. The servants were permitted to retain their sigils, and the younger and less experienced ones blushed and kept their eyes on the floor. For a troll to go signless was almost as bad as being naked. Of course that was the thrill.

Sollix Captor, yellowblood, Sufferist rebel, hacker, and thief, blended in perfectly. Clad in a gold jacket, breeches, knee-boots, and a cascade of jewellery (cheaper than they looked, purchased with money from favours called in), fingering the unfamiliar weight of the passable fake gems around her neck, she slunk through the crowd, squinting through her dark glasses. Per instructions, she did not pick the pockets of the guests. Petty theft was not the Sufferist way, tempting as it was. She was here for more vital booty. She tagged on to the back of a crowd of trolls heading upstairs, to the ablutionblock or the couchblocks, and carefully picked the lock and slipped unseen through the nearest door; a dressing room. Perfect for her needs, she thought as she re-locked it.

From her sylladex, she plucked a silvery device, studded with beads of coloured glass which lit up at random as she poured her psionics into it. This was a complex process, and she was one of very few trolls able to operate it. The lights settled into greys and golds, and a perfect replica of herself stood before her. She grinned at it, and it grinned back; she concentrated, and was able to push its facial expression into a dazzling smile, exposing their shared perfect fangs, while her own set into a look of seriousness. Controlling projections of this level took some work.

"Perfect," she murmured to herself, circling the clone. An extra pair of hands was exactly what she needed for this heist. Of course, two identical trolls would cause comment even at a masquerade ball, so some alterations had to be performed, but that was easy enough. She grasped the projector and concentrated, and the clone's clothes turned from honey gold to twilight purple, her jewellery to silver. She reached out and stroked the velvet jacket, shivering as phantom fingers brushed her own shoulder. Another hazard of this method; she couldn't afford to get distracted. But it was so tempting... she had plenty of time, and it wasn't like anyone would know she was missing... She examined the clone's outfit with her fingers, feeling every movement herself, as she adjusted it with the projector. Reshape the glasses, angular rather than round. Restyle the veil covering her distinctive doubled horns, change the patterns of her embroidery and jewellery from flowers to stars, add some lace here and take away some filigree there. She ran her hands over the skintight cloth encasing her clone's slender legs, and gasped and nearly collapsed. She was getting herself far too worked up, she'd never be able to finish the mission like this... She reached into her sylladex again for a bucket, and unfastened her pants. At least with an extra pair of hands it would be done quickly. The clone obediently unfastened its clothing, and she shoved it up against the wall, pulling its hands inside her jacket and sliding hers up its thigh, feeling the movements mirrored on her body, breathing fast but keeping quiet as she eased a finger inside.

There was a muffled gasp, and she cursed her stupidity as she realised there was more than one door in the room.

~

Erinda Ampora the Orphaner had withdrawn to an empty respiteblock, citing tiredness from her duties as an Orphaner. Really, she wanted to sulk. She had wanted her moirail to be there with her, of course she had, but Ferife was not as well-disguised as he thought he was, and of course everyone at the ball recognised him and wanted to pay attention to him, taking him away from her. How very irritating. She sighed, and wondered whether she should drag him up to sit in the borrowed pile with her for a while. Yeah, that would make her feel better, even if the junk it was made from was wrinkling her dress. She was fond of the dress, a silvery gem-bespattered representation of an ocean wave with a matching lace-trimmed mask, but it could be tidied up with ease. She rubbed her neck; the wig she had braided around her horns to conceal their shape and cover her hairstreak was heavy.

There was a sound from the dressing room. She jumped up, pulled her emergency hand-blaster from her strife specibus - Circe's Crosshairs couldn't be used very well indoors - and silently slid the door open, and muffled a gasp as she saw. Within the dressing room stood two trolls she didn't recognise, one standing still and peaceful while the other walked around her, touching her arms, her chest, her neck, her hips. Erinda knew she should shut the door, but she didn't recognise what little she could see of them; she had thought she knew everyone present. She squinted closer at them, unable to see their faces properly from the angle at which she stood. The trolls in the room were slowly starting to breathe more heavily, their faces flushing deeper grey, and Erinda felt her own pulse increasing to match theirs. One produced a bucket, and Erinda nearly dropped her gun, catching it in time and opting instead to put it away to free her hands.

She saw one troll's hand disappear between her partner's legs, and was unable to restrain a sound as she mirrored the movement herself; the two froze, and she couldn't see their eyes behind their dark glasses but she was sure they must be looking at her and so she froze in turn, as if that would help. She knew she should take her gun back out, but couldn't summon the power to move.

The girl in gold seemed to throw a smirk her way, and resumed her task with renewed enthusiasm, the purple-clad one returning to unbuttoning her jacket. Erinda relaxed, thinking she hadn't been seen, and pulled her skirt up out of the way, reaching into her lacy briefs and matching the motions of the trolls she watched. The thrusts of their fingers sped up, and Erinda groaned and switched hands as her wrist started to ache, unaccustomed to using that speed. She hoped this wouldn't be over too quickly...

"You're going to ruin the carpet at that rate, you know."

Erinda's bloodpusher stopped and she dropped her skirt, fins blushing violet, at the words from the gold-clad girl. She moved to slam the door, but the object of her interest turned, grinning, and gestured to the bucket. "Join uth?" Erinda spluttered and babbled something incoherent, before the two strode towards her and enveloped her in their arms.

Up close, she saw the strangers were identical in face and form, eerily so. Magic briefly crossed her clouded mind - stupid, magic wasn't real - until she saw the silver orb tucked into one's jacket pocket. Ah, perfectly ordinary psionics then. But what powerful psionics, to produce a corporeal projection... She felt her knees grow weak, and the purple-clad troll held her up, kissing the back of her right fin, as the other surveyed her and licked her fangs hungrily. Erinda relaxed in the arms of the two lanky trolls, running her hands over their bodies and feeling the contrast with her own muscled one, and let them pull her to the floor.

The golden jacket was unfastened and slipped off the wearer's shoulders, revealing that she wore nothing underneath, and Erinda ran her fingers over the boyish chest thus revealed, feeling relieved and smug that her own venom globes were noticeably bigger. She squeezed lightly, harder when her partner placed a hand over hers and pressed in encouragement. Erinda examined the trolls for a sigil, finding none, and murmured "Do you hawe a name? Names?"

The response, whispered wetly into her hearduct and followed by a lick (was her tongue forked?), was "None of your beethwakth. Now thtop talking."

Sollix pulled Erinda off the clone, who spread her legs and rolled the skintight breeches down her narrow hips, while pulling the seatroll's skirt back up and pulling her underwear to the side. The white lace was stained with violet fluid, and she sucked it dry, Erinda shivering and trying to push against her lips.

"Ah. You want it, you give it." Erinda let Sollix roll her over onto her front and push her face into the clone's nook. "I feel what she doeth, tho you get what I get." The clone's hands dug into Erinda's hair, finding her horns and using them both to direct and stimulate, rubbing the hornbeds. Erinda nodded and got to work, feeling deliciously degraded by submitting willingly to a land-dweller, glad that she was still in her wig and mask if this mysterious psionic really was just a party crasher - hopefully she wouldn't recognise her.

The psionic clone was cool, little warmer than the air; a very energy-efficient projection indeed. Erinda took a moment to be impressed, knowing a little about how these projections worked, before pushing her tongue into the waiting nook. Sollix gasped and nearly fell over again, before pushing Erinda up into a low kneeling position and lying down under her, copying Erinda's movements with a little smugness; her split-tipped tongue gave her a distinct advantage.

Suddenly it occurred to Erinda that it was not merely her fevered imagination making the hands and tongue of the living troll seem hot. She was, in fact, much warmer than the seatroll was used to. A _lowblood?!_ Erinda raised her head and took a breath to scream in outrage, to ask the filth how she dared enter a highblood's ball, but Sollix's claws dug into her thigh.

"If you want me to thtop, shout away."

Erinda paused long enough for Sollix to rub a few more gentle circles on her, and the shout turned into a moan. The warmth made her blood flow faster, it felt so good... She sagged a little, trying to keep her weight on her arms, and breathed out silently, with enough presence of mind to aim it at the wet flesh before her and make Sollix and the clone tense up in turn. Erinda resumed her task, gently sliding a finger in and earning one herself in return, and reflected briefly that the carpet was ruined anyway now before Sollix added a second finger and flexed both in a way which made her lose rational thought. As Erinda settled into a good rhythm, finding the spots which made Sollix squirm and allowing the warmblood to find hers, she slid her free hand under the clone's jacket, squeezing and rubbing gently at her breasts. The favour was returned with increased pressure and light scratching on her hornbeds, which shook her hair loose and let strands fall to brush ticklishly over her neck and chest.

She noticed Sollix was slowing down, and stopped to look down at her between her arms. "Wwhat's the problem? Shit, don't stop noww, I'm just gettin' fuckin' close, bitch..." Sollix sank her teeth into Erinda's thigh, and she gritted her teeth to block a shriek.

"It'th a bit hard to focuth when I'm trying to control two bodieth at onthe, you ingrate!"

"Okay, okay, aahh..." Erinda breathed deeply, feeling the blood pulse in the bitemark. "Sorry! Okay. Lemme finish you off so you can..." As she pushed her fingers deeper, Sollix stood up on shaking legs, and leaned against the wall, straddling the bucket. She brought her hands to her hornbeds, so overwhelmed she was barely controlling the clone, and it mimicked her strokes on Erinda, nudging her hairpins loose in the process until the clone's hands slipped up Erinda's polished horns and her wig came with them. Erinda shrieked and dug her claws into the clone's flesh, and it and the real Sollix convulsed and came simultaneously, hot yellow fluid spilling into the bucket and onto Erinda's face and hand. The latter faded as soon as it left the clone's body, leaving Erinda clean of everything but her own sweat and smeared makeup, which irreparably stained her mask, but nobody at the ball would care.

Sollix took a deep breath, leaning limply against the wall, and buttoned her clothes back up. "Wow. Intenthe."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm awwesome, noww get back to wwhat you wwere doin', mustardbl-" Erinda found herself being swept up into Sollix's arms and silenced with a toothy kiss and fingers returning to their task. The clone knelt up and joined her, forked tongue flicking between the real Sollix's fingers. Sollix broke away and smirked as Erinda trembled, resting her weight on the wall as the yellowblood had done. Erinda cried out as the clone's mouth pressed against the bitemark on her upper thigh, and Sollix smiled wickedly and directed the copy to bite again on the other side. Erinda shrieked, and the bucket was filled.

Legs trembling, Erinda let Sollix prop her up, and sighed, a dreamy smile easing over her face until she felt the lack of weight on her head. She reached up and felt her bare horns, shrieked again, and quickly grabbed her wig from the floor, only to see Sollix snickering and shaking her head. She relaxed. "You wwon't tell?"

Sollix shrugged, and said "I don't care what you do."

"Good," said Erinda, standing up and tidying herself up a bit. Sollix moved closer to her again, putting an arm around her shoulders, and she rested her head on the yellowblood's shoulder, purring. "So are you goin' to tell me your na-"

Sollix grabbed her, shoved her into the nearby walk-in closet, and pushed a heavy chest of drawers in front of it as Erinda screamed and beat her fists on the door. She laughed to herself. It wasn't locked and the door wasn't jammed shut, just blocked; Erinda was strong, she'd manage to get the door open when she stopped panicking. She re-opened the lock and beckoned the clone, which followed obediently, while mopping herself up with a handkerchief. A few stains would pass unnoticed by the partygoers, in fact they would help her blend in; why else would highbloods be attending anonymously, rather than broadcasting their names and ranks, if not for the purpose of debauchery?

She bumped into a passerby, a girl with a thick curly mop of hair and a plain white mask, who looked towards the dressing room door. "Hey, my wicked sisters, what's all up and goin' down with the sounds?"

Sollix winked. "Oh, jutht a friend of mine. I think she doethn't want to be dithturbed."

"Ohh," said the girl, winking back. "Gotcha, lispysis." She looked the clone up and down admiringly, and offered her arm. Sollix directed the clone to take it and pleasantly waved the two away as she headed up the next flight of stairs to the master respiteblock, mentally snickering proudly to herself.


	10. *TW: DUBCON* CanPis: ~the idyll~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General: pre-Scratch Karkat/pre-Scratch Feferi, slavery, ageplay/petplay undertones, mutual dubcon (Karkat's consent is meaningless, Feferi's is uninformed), quadrant clashing, Sadstuck, vague anatomy.  
> Sextrology:  
> -Karkat: tall strong women, big breasts/nipple play, discipline, humiliation, slaving, collars.  
> -Feferi: young boys, smooth bodies, extended foreplay, lite submission, spankings.  
> -Both: kissing, licking, anal, bathing/hygiene.

He's the most adorable thing you've ever seen, cute as a cuttlefish, your cuddly candy-red concubine. He's an adult but he's still so small, so soft, and he has the most perfectly funny grumpy face. He sits at your elbow as you hold court, or on your lap at mealtimes with his arms around your neck as you feed him with your fingers, or sometimes your lips, watching his throat move behind his red velvet collar as he swallows. Some days he sleeps in your arms, other times you leave him in his room in the above-water tower, and every evening you cheerfully wake him and help him dress, always in red. He must be recognised instantly, his blood known. Everyone will see him on your arm, and everyone will know he's just as good as any other troll you could have chosen. Better, in fact, because it's _him._ You love him dearly, and you know he loves you, and you will make his unfairly short life as perfect as possible for him.

You sit on the pailing couch in your beautifully decorated private block, murky sunlight pouring through the water outside the window, your dear little red troll sitting in your lap as you comb his hair, letting his head rest on your plump breasts like a mammal with its young. You wear only your glasses and tiara, and he wears only his collar. Both of you still have damp hair from the bath, and he smells of your favourite sweet floral perfume. The walls are decorated with photos of you and him, together; one huge formal portrait of you on your throne with him on a soft cushion beside you, and others more personal, you swimming together, eating together, some tastefully low-lit boudoir shots. Nothing explicit. That's just for you two, now.

He doesn't speak much during your times together, which is odd as he talks a lot otherwise. He's still embarrassed. So sweet. You lie back and pull him on top of you, letting your lips meet. His mouth tastes fresh and clean, and his nubby little teeth catch your lip just hard enough... too hard! You squeak in protest and push him up with a disappointed frown, and he glares to the side and mumbles an apology. Good boy. You start again, trailing your tongue over his and softly stroking his back and thighs, murmuring praise. Soon he's breathing hard and rolling his hips against your hip, unable to hold himself back, but you pull away a little as you continue to kiss him. It's so sweet that he's eager, but you're not quite ready. You hear him hiss a curse, and tap his nose in reprimand. Language.

Soon you decide you're ready, and part your legs further to signal so. He's so much shorter than you that you have to lean up to reach his mouth as he slides inside, more roughly than usual. Oh, he is keen. His brow is furrowed, his red eyes burning, his teeth gritted. So focused on your pleasure. He pulls away from your mouth and you lie back to let him reach your breasts; he kisses and sucks at the skin, and digs his teeth in as hard as he can with his small jaws and blunt teeth, knowing he has to use extra pressure on the tough protective skin. Seadweller skin can be as strong as a shark's and female trolls require thicker protection over their vital organs, so your little redblood has to make quite an effort to leave his lasting love-bites there, but he's always enthusiastic. You run your hands over his body, soft and pampered and shaved as smooth as you are naturally.

The sound of the abrupt slap reaches you before the pain does, and your eyes fly open, a burning handprint on your hip. Well. That's new. Another, pain and a pink bruise starting to appear, the force hard enough that his filed claws still leave scratches when he curls his fingers. He's thrusting hard now, slamming his hips into yours, and he growls in a way that makes you shiver, draws back his arm, and slaps with strength that almost matches yours.

You wrap your legs around him and pull him closer with a whoop of joy. Your little redblood is coming out of his shell at last, and it's so _delicious._

He snarls - uncontrolled, enraged, beautiful - then pulls out, and shoves your legs over his shoulders. You feel his fingers plunge into you, flexing and curling inside, then out, and press in lower. My, he is inventive today. He seems surprised when you don't stop him. Why? Even if you weren't enjoying yourself so much, why would you deny your darling anything?

He makes love to you violently, biting your breasts and thighs, shaking with his effort to prolong it, and you encourage him with soft words and gentle touches, begging for more. You consider being as harsh with him as he is with you, but you don't trust your strength at this moment, don't want to hurt your poor little troll. You can try that another time, begin gently while you're still in control of yourself. He can do what he likes, you can take it and it's wonderful to see him give up his shyness now. His clean fingers push in again and finish you off, and shortly after he shouts wordlessly and fills you up with red and rolls off you, shaking and starting to weep.

You pull him back into your lap, shifting off the wet spot, feeling bloated, and shoosh him, kissing away his tears. Poor little thing, he always gets like this when he's overexcited. Carefully, you lift him up and take him back to the ablutionblock, and sit him under a warm shower, soothing him as he trembles.

"... hate you..." you think he whispers, but you must be wrong.


	11. *TW: DUBCON* LibSco: ~the epilogue~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General: Mindfang/Redglare, blackrom, dubcon of the "acceptable within blackrom" variety, nonconsensual drugging, public sex, bloodplay, human anatomy.  
> Sextrology:  
> -Redglare: long hair, tall powerful women, (passive) b&d, mutual exhibitionism.  
> -Mindfang: humiliation, (active) b&d, clothed sex, aphrodisiacs, mastering, (active) s&m, ejaculation.  
> -Both: piercings, nibbling/biting, nipple play, mutual masturbation, mind games, teasing/edging.

The seabreeze is cold, drops of saltwater stinging her exposed skin, shivers running through her from both that and the eyes raking over her as she stands bound to the mast. She is nervous, but not panicking yet. She lost again. Her captor stalks in circles around the mast, pausing just outside Redglare's vision. The _swish-thud_ of a knotted rope makes her jump, and the watching crew snicker, dropping their various tasks until Mindfang's snarl and swinging of the rope sets them back to work. They return hurriedly to work, keeping one eye on the prisoner.

Mindfang's hair brushes Redglare's neck and arm, and cold breath hits her, followed by something colder pricking her ear, travelling down until the hatpin tip twitches with her speeding pulse. Mindfang looks in Redglare's eyes, exposed with her glasses shattered beneath the Marquise's boot. She's looking at the crewmembers, watching the way they eye her.

"You're not for them," the Marquise whispers, and Redglare relaxes a little. "Just the show. The goods are mine." Redglare calms, and her spade flutters. Oh, so it's that way. She'll be humiliated and injured, but not irreparably. Fine tradition, no hard feelings. She'll win next time.  
She shifts her legs apart as far as they'll go in the bindings, and smirks a little. Resisting will just make Mindfang smug. She has to absorb this, take it with a smile. The knotted rope strikes her thigh, leaving a teal bruise, and she forces herself to stay limp. Tensing makes it hurt more. It strikes again on the other side, again directly on the bruise left by the first one, and she breathes rapidly, holding back the pain. She's had worse, but more's coming. Mindfang must have put the hatpin away to free her other hand, Redglare doesn't expect the belt, and it paints a stripe of pain across her chest, leaving her clenching her jaw not hard enough to hold in a cry. She opens her eyes to see Mindfang frowning, shaking her head, and gives her a defiant smile.

"I see I got the dosage too low. Wait for it," Mindfang says.

Wait for what?... Redglare feels her pulse in the bruises, harder, more intense, sweat rising on her brow. She squirms in the ropes, warmth growing between her legs.

Mindfang holds up a small bottle. "Ah, here we go. Seems this stuff was worth the price."

_Oh fucking hell._

Mindfang drops the rope, undoes the lower buttons of her greatcoat, tucks her hand under her petticoats, taunting her captive as the drug takes effect. Redglare licks her lips, and moisture gathers on her skin and at her nook, an ache beginning. Mindfang watches till Redglare's jerking her hips, struggling for any friction, teeth gritted to avoid cursing her captor as she wants to. She tosses that glorious mane of hair, and laughs, fingers still inside herself. "Race you, darling."

 _I'll show her..._ Redglare pulls her thighs together, as close as she can with the bindings, and squeezes rhythmically, tensing and relaxing her nook in time with her pulse. It's not enough, not nearly, but it's something, and with the push from the drug she might even be able to come this way... Mindfang has imagination, she'll give her that. The pirate watches her, and nods, her crew no longer trying to hide their gawking.

"I do hope you've tried this before," Mindfang says breathily as a trembling tealblood crewmember hands her a bucket. "Because once my hands are no longer occupied... ah... they're free to entertain you."

Redglare chews her lip bloody and tries to speed up her movements, but it's no good. Mindfang keeps a hungry gaze on her, and within minutes her bucket is sloshing with blue. She carries it to the railing and empties it into the sea, and slinks back to Redglare at the mast. "I don't believe I told you to stop."

"Why should I continue?" Redglare growls back, relaxing her legs. Her nook hurts, but it will pass, and it's nothing against the feeling winning would provide.

"Because..." The hatpin again, running teasingly along her ear. "The sooner you're done..." A sudden hard bite to her shoulder, leaving bloody fang marks. "The sooner I stop." A slap right on the bruise on her thigh, this time from a terrifyingly sharp knife. "And if you take long enough to bore me, I might decide to put this somewhere you really don't want it."

Redglare considers this. Mindfang won't permanently damage her black interest, she's sure; at least she'd seen Dualscar a few times and he was perfectly healthy and presumably functioning. She could see how long she can hold out, or she could try to end it sooner and disappoint Mindfang. Neither option appeals greatly, but she's not going to win this one unscathed. She decides to try the latter, resuming her attempts while Mindfang's teeth graze lightly across her arm, tugging at the skin.

"I miss having a quadrant with gills," Mindfang muses. Redglare has only seconds to think about this before the knife draws a line along her ribcage. Another follows beneath it, more on the other side. "Shall I scallop your ears?" Redglare ignores her, trying to keep the blood flowing between her legs and ignoring that dripping from her.

Mindfang pinches her nipple, pulling and rolling it gently till it hardens, then sharply twisting. Redglare cries out in theatrical pain, inwardly laughing as Mindfang pinches harder; that's only helping her. She's always liked that. It's not enough, though, not yet, even when Mindfang takes it between her teeth and leaves it numbing from her cold saliva in the equally cold air.

The hatpin comes out again. Redglare freezes as the crowd laughs, and suddenly there's a horrible sting in the insufficiently-numbed flesh. She grits her teeth again, panting as the pin comes out to make way for a thin gold ring.

"There, so much better!" Mindfang doesn't numb the other one, and Redglare gives up and shouts as the pin goes in. She wonders which is worse. This one hurts, but a troll's mouth on a wound is a terrible risk of infection. She's bleeding from there too now, just as her cuts were scabbing over. She groans and squirms as Mindfang reaches into her pocket, producing a handful of earrings - stolen ones, no doubt, and all with fat heavy gems dangling from them. She hangs one from each ring, then another, until Redglare's sure the flesh will tear...

The pin moves down to her nook and spears into the flesh, and she snarls with pitch-dark hate as teal flows over her legs.

The pirates whoop and applaud as Redglare sags in the ropes, shaking, Mindfang stepping gracefully away to take a bow. She kisses Redglare's ear, and says "It's about a week till we reach the next port. I think this evening I'll untie you and let you try to have a turn yourself. Let nobody say I am unfair."

Redglare twists around hard enough to jar her neck and bites satisfyingly deeply into Mindfang's lip, feeling it twist into a smile between her fangs.


	12. *TW: DUB/NONCON, WETTING, INSECTILE BIOTECH TOYS* CapAqu: ~the hitch~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General: Highblood/Dualscar, unspecified consent level (Dualscar is thoroughly uncomfortable and may or may not have agreed to be made so), freaky insectile biotech sex-toys, force-feeding, bladder desperation/wetting, tentabulge/nook. (Probably the most squick-riddled thing I've written - mostly I pick one big squick and stick with it.)  
> Sextrology:  
> -Highblood: topping, (active) body worship, heavy b+d, torture.  
> -Dualscar: major penis size. bottoming, swallowing, plugs, (passive) worship, b+d, s/m, teasing, torture.  
> -Both: watersports, anal play, humiliation.

Sloshing sounds drown out the sound of his breath, followed by a clunk, and a hand takes hold of his horn and pushes his head down. Dualscar's senses are heightened by the blindfold; he smells sugar and plasticky artificial fruit and hears carbonation fizzing before his lips meet the surface of the fluid. Grape Faygo in a bucket. The man's sense of humour again. His nose goes under, and his intake gills flutter uselessly in the air. Pity seadwellers can't breathe soda. He faces his fate and drinks. It's not all that terrible, but it was not meant to be drunk in bucketfuls. A few mouthfuls in he feels queasy, but his head is being forced down with the level of the liquid, and he doesn't dare stop.

The difficulty of the task is increased by the nookworm. An engineered bug, long-bodied and with pairs of spiracles on every segment to ensure it can breathe however deep it goes, which feeds on the genetic fluid of trolls. It wraps in a spiral around his bulge, and its head is buried deep in his nook, rippling with every tiny swallow, the movements of its mandibles as it drinks and of its stubby legs and the gripping pincers on its tail as it adjusts its position teasing but not enough. It squeezes the wall of his nook between its body and the fat steel plug in his wastechute, not quite painfully. He wishes his hands were free, but they're tied behind his back, tethered to the sash he's still wearing though his pants are long gone, more loosely to the bar holding his knees apart, and to his shiny new purple collar. If he pulls too hard he'll choke himself.

The bucket is huge, proportional to its owner, and Dualscar feels new dread even as his stomach bloats. He's down to the dregs now, licking up the sugary residue and encountering the thick bitter slime at the bottom which proves the bucket wasn't cleaned. Finally he finishes and is allowed to kneel back up, hiccupping and swallowing hard to keep the liquid down. Huge hands ruffle his hair and soothingly rub his swollen stomach.

"Shh, shh, good, little fishy, you did good, yes you did," rumbles the voice in his hearduct, childish tone mocking him. He opens his mouth and the claws dig in. "Little fishies don't talk. Keep trying and little fishy goes back in the fishbowl." Dualscar closes his mouth again, gritting his teeth to stifle a belch, and hears the Highblood's laughter.

The gentle massage of his stomach relieves the ache, and he relaxes despite himself, but another urgent problem makes itself clear. The fluid has to go somewhere; all that has happened is the pressure has moved, worse now as his bladder is pressed between the Highblood's hand and the expanding nookworm. As it pulses and shifts and swells, more of his genefluid runs to feed it full, and his attempts to ignore it are futile. He tries to close his legs, and is forcibly reminded of the spreader bar.

The Highblood's fingers toy with his bulge for a moment, and stroke along the back of the nookworm. There's a pause, and then Dualscar sobs. Fuck, the thing _purrs._ Tears trickle down his face, and he tries not to clench. If "little fishy" comes before he's told there will be hell to pay; worse, he might have to drink that too, and there's no way he can hold that much.

He tries to focus on something else, but the soft wet sounds he can hear only make matters worse. Their breath, his own sobbing, the Highblood's panting. Pattering as little drops and splashes of genefluid hit the stone floor. The slick sound of the Highblood's hand on his own bulge, until he stands up and pushes Dualscar's head back down. "Little fishy needs to clean up the mess he's made." Dualscar gets the point and licks the boot cap under his mouth, then blindly noses around to find the other, lapping at the floor as he goes, little as he wants to swallow more liquid.

"So good, such a good pretty little fishy," croons the huge troll, shifting behind him and kneeling back down to stroke Dualscar's horns. A merciful distraction from the pounding ache in his groin. The index finger of his other hand hooks through the ring of the plug, easing it gently in and out; to Dualscar's distress, this has the opposite effect, making the nookworm squirm and his swelling bladder throb. He holds on, unsure what will happen if he makes a mess, particularly as the Highblood's huge bulge is now sliding along his thigh. Even though he couldn't see the Highblood anyway with the blindfold, having his tormentor behind him feels worse, more threatening. "Good little fishy deserves to feel good..." Dualscar does not feel good at all, and the finger sliding from his horns to his neck and slipping inside his gill slits only makes it worse, especially when the Highblood's tongue enters the other side. Still, the unfamiliar pain eases surprisingly quickly. Really, this part isn't terrible...

"Heh. I motherfucking _love_ gills," the Highblood whispers, lips against the skin, the very tip of his claw strumming the rims of Dualscar's chest slits. "Did you know the Empress can't get enough of this?" Dualscar refuses to think about that. "Ever had someone fuck your gills?"

"Please don't..."

Claws pierce the skin. "What did I say about little fishy talking?"

"Aah! Th-that I mustn't..."

 _"THEN WHY ARE YOU STILL TALKING?!"_ bellows the Highblood right in his hearduct and almost makes Dualscar's bladder let go then and there. He whimpers, bites his lip, and bows his head apologetically. After he remains silent for a moment which feels like hours, the Highblood ruffles his hair and strums his finbones. "Better, much better. Easy, little fishy, don't cry, I don't intend to motherfucking kill you. Now." He resumes gently stroking the sore gill, licking the other, planting butterfly kisses on the frilly flesh just inside, and the odd tingling feeling almost prevents Dualscar from noticing as the Highblood's bulge slides over the lip of his nook, brushing against the purring worm. His eyes widen. Oh God, no. The worm is bloated almost to capacity with the fluid it's swallowed, if that huge bulge goes in as well he'll tear in half.

Fortunately, he doesn't try. Dualscar sags with relief as the worm is pulled free of his nook and wrapped tightly around his bulge, its head resting on his nook lips and the mandibles picking lightly at the wet flesh. "Don't worry, little fishy, I'll go easy on you today..." the Highblood croons, adding "You'll stretch." In he pushes, Dualscar groaning as he opens up. God, it fucking hurts, he did not need more pressure there... It only gets worse as it starts to move, hard thrusts jerking his whole body and slamming painfully into his bloated shameglobes and, worse, his bladder. Seatrolls were not built to hold so much for so long, and fear of releasing it of course paradoxically makes the urge greater. The Highblood must know exactly what's going on, he was the one who forced all that Faygo down Dualscar's throat, but he hasn't given Dualscar permission, and doing anything, especially this, without permission will have bad results.

The Highblood is still playing with his gills, whispering to him how beautiful they are, how his blood flushes them such a glorious colour. Dualscar just hopes he wants the blood to stay inside them and not on the walls, and cries out when cold air is blown sharply right onto the meat of the gill. He doesn't let the shock relax his control, even as the Highblood's hand massages the point of his abdomen over the agonising swelling in time with his thrusts. He will not be tricked. The Highblood turns the worm up a notch, and wraps it tighter, and Dualscar weeps quietly. It hurts, but at least arousal makes it slightly easier to hold his bladder closed even as the genefluid buildup causes painful pressure.

"Oh, little fishy's good at this. So good at doing what he's told, best little fishy."

Dualscar shudders at the words, and then shudders again and tries not to yelp as he is forcibly reminded of the ticklish spot just under his chest gills. The Highblood pauses. He noticed too.

"Oh my," he purrs, finger playing lightly over the spot, Dualscar's body shaking with nerves and sensation. "Little fishy's smiling at last..."

"Nn..." Dualscar stops himself from speaking, fearing the consequences, hoping the Highblood will go back to what he was doing. Surely the famous torturer is not going to waste his time on something so wigglerish...

"Oh, little fishy ought to keep smiling," whispers the Highblood. "Joy and pain are holy, you can have both or either. Little fishy gets to pick..." Dualscar tries to force a smile, but it's unconvincing, and the Highblood doesn't give him enough time to try again before he attacks.

Dualscar howls in surprise, the sound breaking up into pained laughter. Frantically, he tries to struggle away from the claws digging in under his bound arms and stroking his gillflaps, but the Highblood's knee rests on the spreader bar, the enormous troll's weight holding him in place, so all he can do is lean forward until his forehead rests on the floor, his body shaking and jerking in his bonds. Tears pour from under his blindfold and despite the clear instructions he starts babbling words, begging the Highblood to stop. He hopes nobody can hear, or at least that the sounds he's making could be taken for those of pure pain.

The Highblood hunches over him, mouth level with his ear, driving in deeper. He turns up the nookworm one more notch, skimming his fingers in tingling trails over the wet smears and trickles on Dualscar's inner thighs, and whispers "Time for little fishy to go back in the water."

The word "water" makes the pain in his belly surge, and he hopes the statement was permission because there's no way he can hold back any longer. He tries, out of sheer stubbornness, a desperate attempt to salvage some dignity. It's no use. The built-up pressure inside him combined with the thrumming and rippling of the swollen worm sends him over the edge with a burst of pain as his overtaxed muscles contract, relieving some of the ache but not nearly enough, especially as the tightening grip of his nook causes the Highblood to follow him, gripping hard enough to cut him with his claws and forcing deeper than ever into him and filling him with a rush of purple. It leaks from his nook, mixing with the jet of his own fluid splattering onto the stones and spraying up onto his body and face. The motion inside him and the liquid sounds break through his control, and he sobs as his bladder lets go, washing away the thicker, stickier fluids.

With a titanic effort, he manages to use his exhausted muscles to lift his upper body off the floor; it's not much of a comfort, but at least he can avoid getting it on his face. He sits back on his heels, impaling himself on the Highblood's softening bulge, even his breathing painful, reflecting with disgust as tears run down his fins that now he's wet at both ends. Fuck. He doesn't remember ever being so _exhausted._

The Highblood presses against his back, a rumbling purr of contentment shaking them both, prises the bloated nookworm from Dualscar's painful bulge, and eases the plug out of him, patting his wet thigh soothingly until he stops sobbing. Dualscar hears him take a deep and satisfied breath, though the air stinks so strongly it's making his eyes sting and water more. "Shoosh, fishy, you did good," he whispers. "You did very good, _very_ good. Come on." He stands up and scoops Dualscar up in his arms like a jadeblood lifting a wiggler, nuzzling his sweaty hair. "Let's get cleaned up."

Dualscar tries to ignore the wet feel and sugary reek clinging to himself in favour of lying limply in the clown's arms and inhaling the smell of fresh sweat on his neck, looking forward to going back into some good clean water. He licks his lips in disgust. He still tastes grape Faygo, sticking his sore throat shut, and he'd give a lot for a less sickly drink.


	13. LeoPis: ~the range~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Fill for a gill/fin-play prompt: http://homesmut.dreamwidth.org/38671.html?replyto=40918287  
> -Meulin: submissive females, active forced penetration, active lite s+m/torture, strapping on, top positioning, doggystyle, flirtation, outdoor sex, exhibitionism/showing off, penis girth, colourful kinky lingerie, struggle/play-fighting/wrestling, animal sounds.  
> -Meenah: dominant females/lite submission, passive penetration, dildos, artists/creatives, softcore porn, gifts, surprises, body contact, diva roleplay.  
> -Both: spanking, b+d, monogamy, seduction, tickling, masturbation.

Meenah, lounging on a branch, is alerted by her braid being batted. She sits quietly, intending to further frustrate the other troll by ignoring it, until claws catch and pull hard, and she falls down, bouncing off the lower branches and landing on her rump.

"Ow! Mothafucka!"

The troll leaning over her is unable to appreciate the yell. Her smile widens, and her blank eyes glimmer. "HIIII, MEWNAH! GUESS WHAT I SAW THIS MEOWNING!"

Meenah shrugs.

"I SAW YOO-OUU!" Meulin sings. "I SAW MEW AND CRONUS AND MEW KICKED HIM IN A FURRY PAINFUL PLACE!"

"Aw glub," Meenah groans. "I got nofin but planktonic annoyance for that basshole, you know that."

"THAT IS GOOD!" Meulin kneels down and leans on one hand on Meenah's chest. "BECLAWS I THOUGHT MEW WERE SPLITTING UP MY BLACK OTP. DO NOT WANT, NOPE NOPE NOPE. I DON'T POLYSHIP US. AND I THINK PURRLOZ AND MEOWTUNA EITHER WANT CRONUS FOR THEMSELVES OR WANT TO MAKE HIM DOUBLE-DIE SO HE'S NOT A GREAT OPTION."

Meenah chuckles and says "Shore, catfish, shore. Don't worry youshellf, if I was gonna cheat on you why'd I do it in front of ya? Jus' makin' you shellous!"

"JUST WHY I SHIP US. MEW ALWAYS KNOW HOW TO ANNOY AND WORRY MEOW. KISSES NOW!"

"Oooh, nah," Meenah coos, walking her fingers up Meulin's arm. "See, I got a lot of important napping to do, soooo... _Purr_ suade me." She wriggles free, and next moment she's running, making it only a few yards before Meulin tackles her and brings her down, arms around her waist.

"KITTY CAUGHT THE FISHY!" Meulin squeals, directly into Meenah's ear. Ah, the truly aggravating side of Meulin is coming out, all for her, and with all the yelling the entire dreambubble will know it even before she blogs about it, which she invariably does. Meenah's partly annoyed and partly proud. "I CAN HAS PAIL?" Meenah's face is pressed into the ground, so Meulin can't read her lips; instead, she wiggles her fins and gives a thumbs-up, and Meulin's fangs press into her earfin webbing. She is almost deafened by the purr. Meulin's so happy to be topping, and Meenah's fine with that - she didn't feel like doing the work today. Ex-future Empresses can let the little people put effort in for them, and it's fun when Meulin gets frustrated. Meenah can yell or moan all she wants and when Meulin can't see her face she can't tell just how much she's reacting.

Meulin pins Meenah with a hand between the shoulderblades and claws her sagging jeans and sparkly pink thong down to her knees, mouth staying firmly latched to the earfin, tongue worming under the rings threaded over the top spine. She's much more tolerable when her mouth is occupied, and Meenah's always loved finplay - shell, that's half the reason she got her rings. Meulin is so warm, and her breath makes little snuffly sounds under the constant thrumming purr, her nose puffing hot air against Meenah's scalp. Rather than her nook, Meulin's fingers go for her lowest set of gills, brushing soft fingerpads and sharp claws ever so lightly along the rims. Her tongue flicks, and Meenah starts giggling. Meulin can't hear her, but she must feel her shaking - not resisting, though. Where her nook presses against Meenah's leg, dampness is starting to seep through her underpants.

Something else presses against Meenah's thigh, something big, and she twists round to see it and speak to Meulin. "Eww, usin' your morayeel's pailin' aids? That can't be healthy."

"IT'S A DUPURRLICKCAT, HE GAVE ME THE CODE," Meulin says, kneeling upright and slapping the oversized toy against her palm. She tilts her head, eyes Meenah's upturned rump, and brings it down with a rubbery _thwack._ Far from complaining, Meenah pushes her hips up and wiggles her fins appreciatively, earning one more whack and fingers deeper in her gills until she starts to cough. Meulin pulls back, hesitating - she's not tryng to kill her - but Meenah kicks her in the shins until she resumes. They're already dead, it's not like they can do each other any more harm, and like fuck is Meenah going to wuss out... She tenses when the head of the toy presses against her, until Meulin says "HEY, I'VE USED IT, NO PURROBLEM! HEEHEE, I PICKED UP SOME MORE HUMAN WORDS, AND MEW KNOW WHAT THEY'D SAY? MEW'RE A PUSSY 'CAUSE YOU DON'T WANT THIS IN YOUR PUSSY!"

That does it, she's not letting her kismesis best her at anything. Meenah takes a deep breath, causing more pain in her lower gills when they flutter around Meulin's claws, and pushes back. The uncomfortable stretch in her nook is matched in her gills; Meulin's prying them open, letting the tissue-thin layers flutter in the air and painfully dry as their thighs become wet. Meenah realises both of Meulin's hands are at work and peers back to see Meulin has repositioned herself between Meenah's legs and tucked the other end of the fake horse bulge into one leg-hole of her underpants. The globes at that end are too wide to let her penetrate herself with it, so she settles for wedging it in place and gripping with her thighs. Meenah braces herself, but Meulin stays aggravatingly still, tensing and relaxing her thighs to grind the toy against herself, fingers still at work on Meenah's gills enough to taunt her but not nearly as much as she wants.

Meulin always forgets about the _other_ part of fuschiablood biology. Meenah's braids whip up on their own, wrap around the greenblood's waist and shoulders, and yank her forwards on top of Meenah. Meenah turns her head as far as she can and makes sure to speak with clear movements of her lips, about an inch away from Meulin's eye. "You get offa me when ya get me off, catfish."

Meulin's sweater and shirt are rucked up around her ribs, and Meenah reaches back awkwardly to pull them up further, eventually succeeding in baring Meulin's warm soft breasts against Meenah's icy back. Meulin's mouth closes around Meenah's neglected earfin, and she tugs on the rings this time. Meenah wonders if she can provoke her enough some time to make her tear them, and if her own willpower can prevent the dreambubble making them grow back.

~

Much later, wet cloths surgical-taped to each set of sore gills, Meenah checks her Bubblr, and yep, Meulin's bragging. Not that she's revealing any details anyone couldn't already have picked up. Somehow, when she comes, Meulin gets even louder.

At the end of the post, Meenah's surprised to see a drawing of herself. Hesitant as she is to admit it, Meulin's art is really good. It's a view of Meenah from behind and above, naked and leaning on her arms against the ground, gills and nook lips spread wide and wet and pink, earfins flushed with blood. Her head is turned to show her dark blush and her tongue flicking over her lip. The real Meenah licks her own lips. Dam, she's hot. Under that, at the end of the post, is a photo of the stained glittery thong Meulin just stole from her, captioned "KITTY'S GOTTA HAVE HER TROPHIES! MOG SO PURRETTY AND SHINEEEE =^~^=", followed by a long string of happy gifs and finally the words "LEIJON OUT!" Feeling magnanimous, she decides to consider the drawing payment for it. All the _other_ things Meulin's stolen, however, especially Meenah's poor goldfish, well...

She produces a copy of the drawing, climbs back onto the comfortable branch Meulin originally pulled her from, shoves one hand down her pants, and uses the other to pull her finrings.


End file.
